


one by one, into the dark

by leere



Series: Addicted to Madness [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - FBI, Multi, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: Kyle Broflovski's an FBI agent working in New York. He's pretty content with his life, until a case brings him back to the town and people he'd left behind and tried so hard to forget. AU.





	1. A Drop in the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I haven't written SP fic in...over three years? But I recently rejoined the fandom (check out my sp sideblog on tumblr, @jewpacabruhs! come say hi!) and this idea came to me, so I just had to write it. It's a Criminal Minds crossover, so expect some cameos from the characters from that universe, but it's primarily a SP fic. Also, the title is the name of a The Get Down episode. I thought it fit well.
> 
> Just a warning, there's a lot of potentially triggering themes in this fic, but they're all vague enough that I didn't feel the need to mark them in the archive warnings. This story is about a serial killer, so murder and rape are mentioned, but neither is graphically described, only discussed afterwards by people who weren't involved. Still, if you'd like me to include those two things in the archive warnings, let me know. I'd be happy to.
> 
> Disclaimers:  
> 1) I don't support any of the shit in this fic. Cartman's Cartman, I won't censor him and risk him being OOC. He stays bigoted in the name of keeping him in character. But I myself am Jewish, neurodivergent, and decidedly not straight, so I want it known that any instances of anti-semitism, ableism, racism, or homophobia (he's gay in the fic but he still throws around shitty terms, as do other straight characters) do not reflect my beliefs. Additionally, I'm not, like, a serial killer or rapist sympathizer. Just want to make that clear. Thank you.  
> 2) I also don't own South Park or Criminal Minds, and I don't claim to. I'm not making money off this.
> 
> Now that all that's over, I hope you enjoy my return to the SP world, and thank you for reading! Comments are welcome and appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle's in Mexico when he gets the call.

Kyle's in Mexico when he gets the call.

He's in a loud restaurant, so he has to plug one ear to hear over the chatter and the mariachi music. "Hello?"

A clear, strong, feminine voice comes through the line. "Agent Broflovski?"

Kyle frowns down at the sudoku puzzle he's working on. It's an unfamiliar voice, but it's obviously someone from work, by the way she addressed him. And she pronounced his name wrong, but that's nothing unusual. "Yes?"

"This is Supervisory Agent Brooks, from homicide. There's a case we want you to work on. You were recommended specifically."

Kyle fills in a four. "Well, I'm honored, ma'am, but unfortunately, I'm currently on vacation."

"You'll be granted double the vacation days for the inconvenience, but it's urgent you fly out to Colorado immediately."

This gets his attention. Kyle raises an eyebrow. "Colorado?"

"Yes, agent. The suspect, who's in custody, is someone you grew up with. You know the people involved better than anyone."

Kyle bites his lip, mentally compiling a list of everyone he ever knew in South Park who could've potentially turned into a serial killer. "Who's the suspect?"

Brooks hesitates briefly, and Kyle forces himself to swallow down his rising anxiety. "That's classified until you arrive in Colorado, Broflovski. Do you accept this case?"

Kyle looks around. Mexico's too humid in June anyway. He'll come back next Spring, if he can, and maybe go to Paris this year instead, once this case is over. Besides, his curiosity is getting the best of him, and knowing this case is directly related to him makes him feel personally responsible.

He nods, even though Brooks can't see. "Yeah, I'll fly right out."

"Fantastic. Sorry to disturb you on your vacation, but this is absolutely vital. Your flight is at one pm, at the Los Cabos Airport. Can you be there on time?"

Kyle looks at his watch. It's twelve thirty; he's eating lunch now. "I can try."

"Sorry for the short notice, but the necessity of your involvement in this case just came to our attention. Have a safe flight, Agent Broflovski. I'll have one of the lead officers of the investigation meet you at the airport and fill you in."

Brooks hangs up, and Kyle takes one last bite of his chile relleno before dabbing at his mouth with his napkin and standing. He takes a big drink of his mezcal, throws down a tip, and leaves. He'll have to stop by his hotel to pack up.

He sighs and flags down a cab.

* * *

He flies in third class, wedged between a fat white guy who falls asleep the second he sits down and spends the entire flight snoring very loudly, and a quiet Asian woman who doesn't once look at Kyle and watches three full episodes of some soap opera on her laptop.

Kyle wishes he had the files on the case he's headed to, but he doesn't, so he spends the entire flight working on his sudoku book, for lack of anything better to do, and listening to music. He solves thirteen of the puzzles and gets through three full Bowie albums before they land.

When they arrive in Denver, Kyle squeezes past his waking neighbour and follows the herd of people off the plane. He scans the crowd of waiting friends and family and employees for a sign with his name on it, but he can't find one. He double checks once, then twice. Then he dials Brooks up.

"Agent Broflovski?" Brooks sounds surprised. "Is everything okay?"

"No one's here."

"Excuse me?"

"No one's holding up a sign for me. Hell, no one here even looks like a fed," Kyle says, still scanning the crowd.

Brooks gives a light little laugh. "Well, the officer I sent is notoriously bad at being punctual. He rarely dresses like a cop, either. He's probably in a cheap corduroy jacket and jeans. Probably a beanie as well."

Kyle squints and looks around again. There's a guy in a beanie on the other side of the room, sat on his phone. He's around Kyle's age, and he's got an odd looking black mustache. He looks familiar, but Kyle can't quite place where or when he saw him.

"Does he have a funky looking mustache?"

"Yes."

Kyle starts walking. "Alright, found him." Suddenly, it hits him. "Uh, Brooks?"

"Yes?"

"What's his name?"

"Agent Marsh."

Kyle stops in his tracks. No way. "What's, uh. What's his full name?"

Brooks sounds like she's smiling. "Stan. Stan Marsh. I'll leave you two to catch up. Keep in touch, Kyle."

"Okay. Bye." Kyle hangs up, then slowly approaches the man. "Agent Marsh?"

The man - Stan, holy shit - looks up. Kyle hasn't seen that face in fourteen years, and he nearly staggers back at the sight of him. He looks exactly the same, aside from that godawful mustache and the crow's feet near his eyes.

Stan scrambles to his feet. "Kyle, Kyle, holy shit, dude, hi."

Kyle smiles at him and holds his arms out. "Hey, Stan."

Stan rushes forward into his arms and hugs him tight. He's well built, a little shorter than Kyle, but sturdier, just like his dad. Kyle briefly wonders what Randy's up to, if he's mellowed with age, but he's drawn out of his thoughts when Stan pulls away and starts talking, blue eyes wide and earnest.

"Kyle, man, it's so fucking good to see you! I missed you! How's life treated you?"

Kyle tries his best to give him a genuine smile, but he wants to skip this catching-up bullshit and hear about the case. He feels uneasy about being back in Colorado, being abruptly shoved back into his old life, and already, he wants out. He wants to get this whole thing over with.

"Life's a bitch, but she's my bitch," Kyle replies, forcing a grin, and Stan laughs heartily. It's a weird, deep belly laugh - the laugh of an older man, not the laugh of a dorky teenager like Kyle remembers. It's unsettling. Everything feels wrong. He swallows hard. "How've you been, Stan?"

Stan holds up his left hand and beams. He's got a ring on, a thick golden band.

Despite himself, Kyle can't help but feel genuinely excited. "Oh shit, dude! Congratulations! Who is she?"

Stan smiles and reaches into his coat pocket, taking a seat as he does. "Who do you think?"

"Wendy?" Kyle sits down, too, and Stan nods, flicking through his wallet. "Aw, man, what's she look like now? Do you guys have kids?"

Stan holds up his wallet, which contains a picture of what must be his family - him, two black haired little boys, a loaf-sized baby who's dressed in pink, and the woman holding the baby. She looks significantly different than Kyle remembers, but he knows it must be Wendy. Her hair's cut short, just above her shoulders, and her red lips are pulled into a tight smile, as if she was arguing with the photographer just prior to the photo being taken. She's still got those intense brown eyes that always made Kyle feel like she saw everything he did.

"Holy shit," Kyle says, looking at Stan, a little awed. "You've got a perfect little family."

Stan smiles happily. "Yeah, I really do." He points to the taller of the two boys. "This picture's kinda old, but, uh, that's Mikey, he's twelve now. He's really into baseball, which sucks 'cause baseball is still the fucking worst, but I go to every game." He points to the other boy, who has a gap-toothed grin. "This one's Marcus. He's nine. I call him Marky Mark and the Nerdy Bunch, because he's in chess club and he's friends with a bunch of geeks. Wendy gets mad, though."

"I feel like Marcus and I would be good friends," Kyle says with a grin.

"You really would. You know, we named him after you," Stan says, looking up at Kyle.

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Marcus Kyle Marsh."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "You're joking."

Stan laughs. "Yeah. His middle name is Thomas, after Wendy's grandpa or something. I told her Marcus Thomas sounded like a douchey Roman emperor or something, but she didn't listen."

Kyle chuckles and points to the baby in Wendy's arms. "How about her?"

"That's my baby girl," Stan says, smiling fondly. "She's gonna be four in November. Like I said, this picture is kinda old. Her name is April Louise, but she recently decided she doesn't like April, so we call her Louise. I call her Louey. Wendy gets mad at that, too."

"They're beautiful, Stan."

"Yeah, they really are." Stan puts his wallet away. "So how about you, man? Let's hear about it!" He nods at Kyle's own ring.

Kyle looks down at it like it was his first time seeing it. He shakes his head. "I'm not married, this is so people leave me alone. I bought it at a thrift shop."

Stan scoffs. "Lemme guess; you're a workaholic. No time to date."

Kyle shrugs. "The right person never came along, that's all. I'm not the dating type, anyway. Like, you know, kids would be nice, but I just turned thirty-two, Stan. Getting a little old. I'm fine with dying single."

Stan frowns at him for a long moment, then looks around like he's just realizing where they are. He stands up, and Kyle does, too. "Let's walk and talk. I doubt they want us standing around."

"Sounds good." They start towards the baggage claim, and Kyle decides it's time to deal with the elephant in the room. "Hey, as nice as it was to talk about us, can we discuss the case?"

"Of course! Well, I have the folder in the car, you can look at that, but I can fill you in on most of the information. Seven white males have turned up dead over the past eight months, although we're sure there's more. Youngest was seventeen, oldest was twenty-six. Ligature marks on the wrists and feet and necks. They were all strangled to death. Genitals had been mutilated, and they'd all been raped."

Kyle's been eyeing his bag as Stan spoke, and he reaches for it when it comes near him. "Where were the bodies found?"

"Five were found in or near Starks Pond, so we had a couple officers watch the area, and the next two bodies were found in the forest nearby." They start to head for the exit.

"The victims were all South Park residents?"

Kyle holds the door open for Stan, who gives him a nod and continues, "Only one was. The first one, the seventeen year old. The others were from Denver, Aurora, Lakewood, Lafayette. Surrounding cities, you know. Uh, I drive the little Honda over there." Stan points at a parking lot, about eighty feet away. They start walking.

Kyle thinks about the information Stan's telling him. "So the unsub lives in South Park, or lived there at some point. That narrows it down a little; South Park's a small town. Do you have a profile?"

"Yeah, white, male, mid 20s to early 30s. Works somewhere where he has to talk to a lot of people all day, so his interpersonal skills are high, but he's got low self esteem and he's neurotic. However, he's also reckless and brash. He's either overweight or very small, one or the other. Uh, what else... oh, yeah, we think he's single, probably didn't date much in his life."

"Mm hm, and how do we know all this?"

"Huh?"

"Like, what proof do we have that he works somewhere where he has to be social? The reasoning behind the profile is just as, maybe even more, important than the profile."

"Oh, yeah. Well, he was able to charm the victims into the car with him and convince them he wasn't threatening. He may even know them personally. He'd been stalking them for a while prior to the abductions, because he knew their schedules. He'd drain their tires, follow them until their car broke down in the middle of no where, and offer to take them to a car towing service, so it's safe to assume he has some knowledge about cars. We were thinking maybe a mechanic." This Stan says carefully, gauging Kyle's reaction.

"Uh huh. Why's he neurotic?"

"He's drugging them in the car, then tying them up. He's weak, insecure, paranoid. He doesn't hold them long, just until they wake up, then he strangles them with a belt. It all happens in two or three hours. He's not sadistic, at least in the classic sense. He's far from gentle with the victims, though. That's how we knew he wasn't a woman. That and the rape, of course."

They reach the car, and Kyle waits patiently as Stan digs around in his pocket for his keys. "When does he rape them? Post-mortem?"

"No, he rapes them as he kills them. Simultaneously." Stan gets the trunk open, and Kyle tosses his bags inside before slamming it shut.

"Any chance the sex is consensual and the victims just think they're involved in bondage?"

Stan shakes his head as he gets in the car, Kyle quickly following suit on the passenger side. "If it was consensual BDSM, they wouldn't have been drugged. Besides, only two of the victims were gay. Sexuality wasn't a factor, just a coincidence. Regardless, no, it was undeniably rape in each incident."

He hands Kyle the manila folder that serves as the case file, which Kyle sets on his lap and ignores for the time being.

Kyle's considering all this when he suddenly remembers something Brooks told him. "Stan, I was told they've got a suspect in custody, and I know him. Who is it?"

Stan chews on his lip, hand hovering over the gearshift.

"Stan, seriously. Why the hell am I here?"

Stan inhales deeply and then exhales, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans before putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot. "Kyle...this case? The victims are...connected to you."

Kyle's heart stops. "Yeah? How? Is Ike okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. They're, uh. Well, they're all redheads of Jewish descent."

Kyle processes this. After a long silence, Stan turns to look at him once he's reached a red light.

"You okay?"

"Green light," Kyle says, and Stan resumes driving. Kyle takes a deep breath, trying to piece his thoughts together. "That doesn't mean anything. Someone was scorned by his Jewish and ginger ex-lover and decided to lash out. Happens all the time. It doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Kyle, um. There's something else."

"What?" Kyle flips open the file, looks at the page on first victim. High school senior Hunter Stoley. He'd been the quarterback. The last name sounds familiar, but Kyle can't place it.

Stan licks his lips, grip tightening on the wheel. "Six of the seven victims were last seen in Denver, and three of the seven had old beater cars. Guess who lives in Denver and works at a mechanic shop that specializes in old cars?"

Kyle's confused for a moment before a Facebook post he saw over five years ago comes to mind. Butters was one of his only old friends to actively follow him once he'd left South Park, and although he rarely uses social media, he'd logged on briefly out of boredom once to see a selfie of a proud looking Butters in front of a mechanic shop.

The caption had been something along the lines of, "He wouldn't take a selfie with me, but he's very very proud, and so am I. This is Eric's new shop!"

A wave of nausea hits him at the realization, and he puts a hand over his mouth.


	2. For What It's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My, my, my. Hello, Kahl. It sure has been a while, hasn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments & kudos :-) Hope you guys like this chapter, I loved writing it. Bad as he is, Cartman's so fun to write haha.

Stan nods, lips pressed tightly together. This Stan is a completely different person - not the proud and happy dad Kyle had met in the airport, but a tense, wary man who's seen far too much. "He's in custody right now."

Kyle presses his fingertips to his eyes, a migraine suddenly beginning to pound dully in his temples. He tries to block out the suddenly all-too-loud sounds that had been faint and unnoticeable before; the rhythmic bass of whatever's on the radio, and the chirping of the birds in the trees outside, and the rushing noise of the wind as they drive with windows down, and the gentle roar of Stan's old car. He tries to put himself in a quiet place so he can think and comprehend and understand.

It makes sense, he realizes glumly; the profile, Cartman's background. It all makes sense. In middle school, Kyle used to bitterly joke about Cartman either becoming the next Hitler or the next Bundy, and he feels sick to his stomach that one half of that joke became a reality.

Kyle opens his eyes, returning to reality, and promptly slams his fist against the dashboard. "Fuck!"

Stan's biting his lip now and looking back and forth between the road and his angry friend. "He's in custody right now," he says again, like maybe Kyle hadn't heard him the first time.

"We need to go see him," Kyle says immediately.

"Are you sure? I mean, I know you and him-"

Kyle interrupts before he has a chance to finish. "Let's go, Stan."

Stan pulls up to a stop sign and turns in his seat to study Kyle, who refuses to look at him, tapping impatiently on the arm rest. Finally, he nods slowly. "Okay. Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

The rest of the car ride is rigid and uncomfortable. They don't speak - Stan's decided it's best to leave Kyle alone, and Kyle briefly tries to read the case file before he realizes he's too preoccupied to focus and instead lets himself deal with all the forcibly resurfaced memories he'd been suppressing for over a decade. Memories of Cartman, specifically of the two summers they'd spent dating. He remembers thinking that Cartman had changed; remembers thinking, hoping, and then believing he'd grown out of the despicable little boy he'd been just a few years prior. And while Kyle's tried his best to put the past behind him, the few times he did find himself thinking about Cartman, he was happy to say he remembered him fondly. But at the moment, he feels sick to his stomach at the thought of the man he'd genuinely been in love with turning out to be a serial killer. He can't handle that. Especially if he's partially to blame for it happening.

True, Cartman had killed people as a child, or at least had indirectly caused way more deaths than the average elementary school student, and maybe there were signs that should've been noted. Hell, Kyle remembers fearing Cartman and his psychopathic tendencies when they were younger. But he'd grown out of his immoral ideologies and impulsive actions in just a few years, or so Kyle had thought, and he stopped really fearing him after that one time in eighth grade when they got drunk off Liane's booze, and Cartman played with Kyle's hair and cried because he didn't have a dad, and he drunkenly and tearfully babbled about being lonely for a full two hours. Something had changed between the two of them after that night. They'd silently come to respect and genuinely care for each other more, because Kyle had seen Cartman's vulnerable side, and Cartman had opened up to Kyle and not been ridiculed after.

Kyle shakes his head and tries to return to the present. Cartman could've brutally murdered seven young men, and if he did, that sweet teenager he remembers so fondly was completely gone. He needs to focus.

Back to the matter at hand: Cartman killed people as a child. Kyle shouldn't be so surprised.

But, he tells himself, any killings orchestrated by Cartman, or even ones that were simply unintentional causalities, were strictly in the name of getting what he wanted or protecting himself (and once or twice, protecting his friends) - never just for fun. Cartman was sadistic, undeniably, but he wasn't a rapist or a cold blooded killer. He couldn't be.

Besides, Cartman always found a way out of being held accountable for his actions. He hated rules and laws, but even more than that, he hated punishments. He wouldn't risk being caught if he were really guilty. Hell, he wouldn't let himself be caught. He was far too intelligent.

Still, Kyle decides that when he interrogates Cartman, because he's going to - he's already decided this case is personal and he'll be dealing with it directly - he'll stick to business, no matter how hard Cartman tries to change the subject and discuss their personal lives instead, as Kyle knows he will. He's also going to go into this as if he's sure Cartman's guilty, even though he wants to believe he's not. From a good cop/bad cop angle, he's going to be the bad cop, because otherwise, he'd probably break, and he refuses to cry in front of Cartman or the dozen cops and agents who will be watching on the other side of the glass.

"Here we are," Stan says suddenly, yanking Kyle from his thoughts. "South Park, Colorado. Did you miss it?"

Pulling into the town feels like a dream; Kyle remembers everything, yet it all feels practically new since he hasn't been here in so long. It's gift wrapped nostalgia on a blood-splattered silver platter. Each tree reminds him of a childhood memory, each house reminds him of the kid who'd lived there and the adventures he'd had with them.

He's lost in his head again when Stan pulls up to the local police station. He parks and then just sits for a moment, looking up at the big building. Kyle flicks through the file he was supposed to have gone through, trying to quickly take in any details Stan had failed to mention in his verbal summary.

"Ready?" Stan asks finally, turning to look at Kyle. His shoulders are tense.

Kyle closes the file, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Inside, Kyle doesn't recognize anyone, and no one seems to recognize him - until a fairly small but heavy-set cop with brown hair and a cup of coffee in his hand stands from his desk and says, "Oh my God. Broflovski? Is that you?"

Kyle squints at the guy as he rushes over, trying to figure out who he is. A glance back at Stan doesn't help, because Stan's simply wearing a shit-eating grin.

The guy comes to a stop right in front of Kyle, and he still doesn't recognize him. He must sense Kyle's confusion, because he says, "It's me! Clyde Donovan!"

Kyle's eyes widen with surprise. Now he sees it; now he can connect those brown eyes to the chubby face of a nasally ten year old, and to the less vivid memory of a dorky teenage wrestler. They'd stopped talking as much after elementary school, so he remembers fourth grade Clyde best. He doesn't look much different now that's he's grown, except he's put on more weight and he's got stubble. "Oh, wow, how've you been?"

"Good, good! I married Bebe, believe it or not. She's pregnant right now with our first. A little girl."

Kyle's a little peeved that the first thing both Stan and Clyde have told him after seeing him for the first time in a over decade is who they married. He finds it irrelevant - he'd rather hear how their parents are, if they're still friends with their old buddies, what those buddies are up to, stuff like that. Familiar things, childlike things, not grown up things like marriage and children and jobs. But Clyde looks so proud that Kyle doesn't have the heart to be short with him.

"Good for you, man," he says, offering a weak smile. Fortunately, Clyde's always been rather dense and he doesn't notice the insincerity of Kyle's words.

"Yeah," he says, still smiling. He looks Kyle up and down, taking in his freshly ironed dress pants and shirt. Suddenly, he sobers up, brow creasing worriedly. "Oh, shit, you're here to see Cartman, aren't you?"

Kyle nods, standing up straighter and adjusting his tie. "I was specifically requested to handle this case, and if granted permission, I intend to fully take over and lead this investigation myself."

"Not much of an investigation," Clyde shrugs, looking down at his half-empty cup of coffee. "All evidence points to Cartman. I'd say he's our guy."

 _Shit, do they have his DNA?_ Kyle turns around to look at Stan, but he's averting his eyes. Staring at his shoes, in fact. He's still just as frustrating as Kyle remembers. 

Kyle looks back at Clyde, who's wearing an earnest smile. He puts a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Good luck in there, Kyle. Maybe we can have a beer after this all blows over, yeah?"

Kyle's not a big fan of beer, but he doesn't say that. He just gives him a short nod and a tight smile, and watches Clyde head back to his desk.

Stan touches Kyle's arm gently and musters up his own best attempt at a smile. "This way."

He leads Kyle through the room of desks and then through a rather ominous hallway, until they reach a door labeled 'interrogation room'. Stan puts a hand on the knob and looks at Kyle. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Kyle pats down his suit, then attempts to smooth back his hair, which doesn't do much. "Yeah, let's do it."

Stan opens the door, and Kyle sees a crowded room. There's seven, maybe eight cops, gathered around the glass. Two look over as they walk in and give them curt nods in greeting, which Stan returns, although Kyle is a little too distracted to.

Because on the other side of the glass...there he is.

Cartman looks the same as he did fourteen years ago, only his childhood obesity and his teenage chub has turned into a beer gut, and he's got a rather impressive beard going on that, while impressive, still looks ridiculous as hell. His hair's long and greasy, like he hasn't showered in a couple of days. He's still in a red hat, only instead of his old knit beanie, he's in a baseball cap. Kyle can't see his full outfit, but he sees he's in white undershirt that shows off some sparse chest hair. It doesn't suit him. There's a red and black flannel draped over his chair, and it's darker in some places where he's sweat through it. His hairline's glistening, and he's drumming the fingers of his right hand anxiously against the table top. His left hand's loosely curled around a cup of coffee.

Kyle goes to stand beside the other officers watching the interrogation. He licks his lips, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply for a moment. His chest feels tight, like someone's sitting on it. Finally, he opens his eyes and tries to watch Cartman's body language instead of his face - he's not tense, only mildly annoyed. Self-assured but not smug.

The detective inside the room is asking Cartman, "Where were you on the night of June 17th?"

"Like I'm supposed to remember," Cartman snaps, and Kyle can't breathe, because, damn, there it was. That voice, the same one that had thrown countless insults and slurs at him over the years. The same voice that later softened and began to speak to him affectionately. And the same voice that had gently, tearfully mumbled, "I love you" into Kyle's bare chest at three in the morning, as their classmates partied downstairs, oblivious to what was happening in one of Token's many guest rooms, during that fateful last summer. It'd deepened significantly, obviously, since the last time he'd heard it, and it's a little rough and gravelly, like he picked up smoking at some point, but the tone, and his odd way of pronouncing things, were the same. For years, Kyle had found that voice infuriating, but now he smiles, despite himself. He's glad to hear it again.

There's tears welling in his eyes. Why? He's not sure, but he wipes at them as casually as he can, as if he's rubbing sleep away, and hopes no one sees him do it.

The detective, a surly black guy, has his arms crossed over his broad chest, and he's clearly losing his patience. "Eric, I'm tired of playing games. You're wasting my time."

"Well, you're wasting mine, too, black mamba," Cartman retorts. "You know I've missed three football games while I've been in custody? That's fucking bullshit. I have a life, you know. Who's feeding my cat? Nobody, that's who. She's all alone in my modest little one bedroom house, wondering where her poor innocent owner went."

The detective gives him a filthy look and leaves the room.

"That got us no where," the guy says once he's shut the door behind him, and Kyle sees his badge. FBI. He must be the one leading this investigation. He looks the leader type.  "Guy's practically a back-talking robot. He doesn't show any remorse, he's not concerned about being a suspect. By the way he acts, you wouldn't think he's being accused of murder; you'd think a kid kept kicking the back of his seat on a plane, and he's complaining to the parents." He purses his lips and shakes his head, until his eyes fall on Kyle, and they lighten up instantly. "Oh, hey. You must be the agent that Brooks recommended?"

"That'd be me." Kyle steps forward and shakes the guy's hand. "Agent Broflovski. I know Eric Cartman better than anyone."

"Supervisory Special Agent Morgan." He shakes Kyle's hand, cool as a cucumber. Kyle tries not to resent the fact that Morgan's his superior. "I was told you grew up with him?"

Kyle nods. He doesn't feel the need to mention that he dated Cartman yet. "We clashed a lot, but we were, uh, pretty close friends, from preschool to high school."

"Good to know," Morgan says. "Mind speaking to him? We've sent three agents in there with no success. I'm hoping he'll open up to an old friend."

Kyle knew that he'd be asked to talk to Cartman face-to-face, but it's still nerve-racking. His hands are shaking; Kyle hopes Morgan doesn't notice. That'd be so embarrassing. "I, uh, meant it when I said we clashed a lot."

"That's okay. Just try to get something out of him, alright? I'm not kidding, he's probably the toughest egg I've ever tried to crack. Any information you can squeeze out of him could help this investigation along."

One of the other detectives claps him on the back. "You got this, kid."

Kyle looks Morgan in the eye, and gets a short but reassuring nod, and then back at Stan, who gives him a feeble thumbs up. Kyle goes over to the door and puts a hand on the handle. He takes a deep breath, then opens it.

Cartman doesn't look up. "Another one? Damn, this calls for a joke. How many cops does it take to crack a falsely accused mechanic with a near spotless record?"

"Only one, if he's good."

Cartman glances up, and his eyes meet Kyle's. Looking into those eyes brings on yet another rush of memories, and he forcibly swallows down his wild emotions and makes himself give Cartman a wry smile he hopes passes off as charming. He prays he's not giving himself away.

Cartman looks stunned. Like, his mouth's open and his eyes are wide. Genuine shock. It's probably the most emotion he's shown since being arrested, and by his beard's growth, it's been quite a few days. Kyle takes in the details of his face; same big brown eyes, same cute button-like nose, same infuriatingly lush lips that caused a lot of sexual frustration and panic in middle school. He's mildly repulsed by how Cartman's let himself go, but he can't deny he's not still attracted to the guy, even as greasy and unshaven as he is right now. He'll never get over the wicked things Cartman's done, especially if he's the real killer, but the carnal lust that had forged their initial relationship is still there and just as strong.

Finally, Cartman closes his mouth. He licks his lips, looking Kyle up and down in a predatory way that should make him uncomfortable, but instead just makes him want to preen.

Then, abruptly, his expression goes blank again. "My, my, my. Hello, Kahl. It sure has been a while, hasn't it?"

God, he hasn't heard his name pronounced that way in a decade. He has to take a deep breath before he sits, because his hands are shaking. He prays that his voice won't. "Hey, Cartman. How've you been?"

"Busy getting arrested for crimes I didn't do, as you can see." Cartman lifts his handcuff-bound hands. "I don't usually mind handcuffs, but these ones aren't my favorite fluffy pink ones, you know?"

"Cut the crap, Cartman. Why won't you talk to the other detectives?"

"'Cause I didn't do anything. Obviously. I can't confess to a murder I didn't do and know absolutely nothing about. Seriously, they won't even tell me what I supposedly did." Cartman raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his lips. He laces his fingers together, handcuff chains clinking as he does. "You look good, Kahl. Have you been working out?"

Kyle purses his lips. "I'm a cop. I kinda have to."

"Cop, huh? Crazy. I always thought you'd be a lawyer like your dad, and I'd be some kind of businessman. I guess we still followed that path. You fight crime, and I'm a self-employed entrepreneur. I run a local auto repair shop. Cartman's Car Care. Cool name, huh? It's actually pretty decent money, even if it's a down-and-dirty kind of job."

Kyle's feeling anxious, thrown off by Cartman's casual demeanor, so he decides sarcasm is the best route. "As fascinating as it is to hear about your life, Cartman, we really need to talk about these murders. That's why I'm here."

"But I like being down-and-dirty," Cartman continues, as if he hadn't even heard Kyle. "But you knew that already, huh, Kahl?"

Kyle's face feels hot. He repeats, "Cartman. Stay on topic."

Cartman crosses his arms, or tries to. The handcuffs won't let him. He huffs and puts his hands back on the table, eyes narrowed at Kyle. "Fine, I'll be Hannibal if you be Clarice."

"Cartman," Kyle says, frowning.

"Kahl, really. I didn't do shit and they know it! They don't even have any evidence. They just can't catch the real perp and arrested the next best guy so they can pretend they're actually good at their job. You know, they just showed up at the shop and put me in cuffs, no warrant, no evidence, no reason. It's bullshit."

"Cartman, c'mon. This attitude isn't doing you or us any good. We all just wanna go home, and if you cooperate, we can do that faster."

"I'm not remotely involved in any murders," Cartman says, rolling his eyes. "I've said this forty fucking times, you Jewish motherfucker."

There's something almost relieving about hearing Cartman spout something about him being Jewish. It brings him back to a time when things weren't so complicated. He smirks, despite himself. "What if I told you I converted to Catholicism?"

"I wouldn't believe it, and even if I did, I wouldn't care. Once a Jew, always a Jew."

Kyle gives a pointed look at the window where the other detectives are watching, unseen and unheard. He wants them to hear how anti-semetic Cartman is, since it supports the case.

Suddenly, he remembers something from a few minutes ago. He leans forward in his chair. "You know, something's been bothering me."

"How attractive I've gotten? Jealous, are you, Kahl? Like fine wine, my friend. I'll be an absolute adonis by forty."

Kyle shakes his head. "No. Cartman...you don't watch football."

Cartman grins, looking down at his cuffed hands, almost bashful. "No, I do not. Aw, you still remember that about me?"

"Why would you lie?"

Cartman shrugs. "Point is, I've missed certain important parts of my daily life in the last three days. If I gave a false example, sorry. Sue me. The cat part was true, though. Her name is Snowball, ironically, because she's a grey tabby."

"Cartman," Kyle says sharply. "You realize you have no alibis, right? This case really isn't in your favor at the moment. If you lie about something as trivial as your hobbies, what else could you be lying about?"

Cartman doesn't respond to that. Instead, he pointedly looks to the one-way glass and says, "So have you dated anyone since me, Kyle? Gimme all the juicy details, babe."

Kyle grits his teeth and tries to swallow down his panic. "We're not here to talk about my personal life, Cartman."

"Why not? We haven't seen each other in years, I think we need to catch up. You know, after I dumped you, I started fucking Butters again."

"I dumped you," Kyle mutters.

Cartman ignores him. "He was pretty upset over the whole cheating on him with you thing, but when I showed up on his doorstep, he didn't even hesitate to take me back. I dumped him a couple months later. He just didn't do it for me anymore. Guess who I ended up with next?"

"Mr. Slave," Kyle says snarkily.

"Close."

"Oh God, Garrison."

"Hell no. Keep guessing."

"Big Gay Al?"

"Gross, dude, you're guessing all the old guys! Think younger. Think the new generation of South Park gays."

It takes a moment, but then it hits Kyle. "Oh my fucking God. You fucked Craig?"

"Excuse you, Kahl, Craig did the fucking. He kept telling me in that annoying nasally ass voice of his, 'I'm not a bitch and I refuse to be fucked like one.' God, I hate that guy. Twiggy emo motherfucker's surprisingly good in bed, though. Now he's married to Tweek. High school sweethearts, or what the fuck ever. I was just a summer fling. You know, you and I could've been high school sweethearts, Kahl." There's a sudden sadness in Cartman's eyes that makes Kyle's chest ache. "I've never loved someone like I loved you."

Kyle's heart is melting, although his mind is firing warning signals. Cartman's manipulating him, but his rational side won't acknowledge that. Probably can't speak up over the sound of his emotional side screaming nonstop because it doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

Suddenly, the door opens. It's Stan, with his corduroy jacket and his unattractive facial hair. He's got a manila file on hand, and he sets it down on the table.

Cartman's eyes light up again. "Stan Marsh! Good to see you again, buddy! Maybe you can tell me what the hell this is about?"

Kyle suddenly snaps out it and remembers where he is and what's going on. Almost unconsciously, he says, "Don't play dumb, fatass."

Cartman's brow furrows in genuine anger, and it's like the last few tender moments didn't even happen. "What is this, fourth grade? Are we back in fucking elementary school? Okay, you fucking Jew, tell me what the fuck this is about or I'll rip your fucking nuts off. You wanna act like we're ten again? Let's fucking go."

"I'd mind your manners," Stan says. "You're being recorded. A very important judge will see this tape, and he'll be deciding your fate. Your behavior may influence his decision. If he's Jewish, you could piss him off by throwing around anti-semetic language. Especially considering your charges."

Cartman doesn't answer for a long moment. Then he raises a hand. "I have...four things to say. One," he starts, beginning to tick off his fingers, "is Stan, okay, listen, buddy, it's good to see you again, but you're still a prick, and your shitty mustache is a sorry excuse for facial hair. Second, you said the judge is a 'he', and I don't know if you're talking about a specific judge, but if you're generalizing, I hope you know women can be judges too. And they make damn good ones. Just as good as men. Okay, jackass?

"Third, you think I give a flying fuck about some kyke judge? I didn't do whatever I'm being charged with. Like, legitimately. I don't know why I'm even here. Fourth - what are my charges? They won't even fucking tell me."

"The murders of seven young men," Kyle says, opening the manila folder and laying out the photos one by one. Stan's too shocked to move - probably stunned into silence by the attack on his admittedly distasteful mustache.

Cartman raises his eyebrows and tugs at his shirt collar. He averts his eyes after looking at the first picture for a good, long minute. "I don't know how you could consider me capable of something like that. You guys know me."

Kyle bares his teeth. "Yeah, we know you killed your own father and fed him to your half-brother, you fucking monster."

"I was nine! I had no concept of wrong and right."

"When'd you learn morals, then? It wasn't when you were ten, because I specifically remember you trying to start a second holocaust. It wasn't when you were twelve, because you led a march to force all Mexicans, not just illegal immigrants, but all Mexican descendants, out of the US. It wasn't when you were fifteen-"

"Kyle, I was a fucking kid, I made some stupid jokes, that doesn't mean-"

Kyle slams his hand on the desk. "I'm not here to fuck around, Cartman!" He stabs his finger against the pictures. "You see these boys? They're all redheads, and they were all Jewish. Each was sexually assaulted as well. The guy is clearly a gay man with a very specific type. He has something out for Jewish boys with red hair, despite being attracted to them, and this is my fucking job, Cartman, I know how this shit works. This guy kills Jewish redheads because a red haired Jewish boy in the past scorned him. Now who does that sound like to you?"

Cartman's quiet for a long moment. Finally, he slowly concedes, "It's oddly specific...but it's just a crazy coincidence. I wouldn't kill people, Kyle, and I definitely wouldn't fuck a corpse. That shit is disgusting. And fuck you for thinking everything's about you, you egotistical bastard. I don't care about you enough to go on a killing spree because of you. I'm not the scorned lover you're trying to make me out to be. Ten fucking years ago, you dumped me, and you know what I did? I sat in my car and cried like a bitch, I'll admit that, but it was for less than five minutes, and then I went and got myself ice cream from Baskin Robbins, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Then I went and fucked Butters, because he was my go-to lay at the time, and it was strictly friends with benefits. A lot better than you and your baggage, you Jewish dickfuck."

"Cartman," Kyle snaps. "You have no regard for human life, because you've indirectly killed before, several times, when you were a damn elementary school student. You've displayed sociopathic tendencies since kindergarten. You have no legitimate alibi for the nights any of these murders happened. You're a fucking neo-nazi. Your name's written all over this shit. You can't expect me to believe you."

"There's no proof. Watch, while I'm in here, another murder will happen, and you'll know it wasn't me."

"Cartman," Stan says evenly. "They all had traces of your DNA on them."

Cartman's mouth falls open in shock, and Kyle's does, too.


	3. Should Have Known Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "See what these vicious false rumors are doing to my reputation? I was universally well liked, the kindly gay mechanic who smiled at children and helped old ladies across the street. Now I'm gonna be ostracized and hated! Just like the Jews in the Holocaust, Kahl! You should feel sympathetic!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This chapter's huge, so I hope that makes up for it. I edited it at midnight, so please excuse any mistakes. And just a warning, sexual abuse is discussed pretty graphically in this chapter, so don't read if that sort of thing will upset you. Cartman also uses some misogynistic language when arguing with a woman. Thanks, and enjoy!

Cartman's looking between Kyle and Stan, frowning deeply. "You're sure it was my DNA?"

"It's DNA, Cartman," Stan says, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "It's fool proof."

Cartman looks perplexed. He sits back, mouth agape. Dumbfounded. "Oh my God," he says incredulously. "I've been framed."

"Who would frame you?" Kyle asks, not entirely believing him. He knows what Cartman's capable of. All things considered, his fucked up childhood should have and probably did, considering this not-so-shocking new found evidence, spit out the sociopathic killer they're chasing. Besides, Cartman's always had a habit of blaming others for his evil deeds so that he doesn't have to take the fall. Kyle thinks he should probably be more angry, but he just feels disappointed, and a little disgusted.

"I have many enemies," Cartman says darkly. He tries to gesture with his hands, but the cuffs prevent him from doing so. He's theatrical, even when facing a lifetime in prison. It'd be charming if Kyle was in a better mood. "Could be any of them."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Less dramatics, more facts. We need to stay on track, Cartman."

"He's right," Stan says, frowning. "Cartman's pissed off hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. It could be any one of them."

"Cartman, who-"

Kyle's interrupted by the door flying open, and a thin blonde man with ratty hair, thick gauges, and a goatee comes in. He rushes Cartman, and his hands are around his neck before Stan or Kyle can even react.

Kyle's frozen in shock. He recognizes those wise old blue eyes, even though they look wild and angry at the moment. "...Kenny?"

Stan runs over to start prying Kenny's hands off Cartman's throat, but Cartman's already able to shove him off. Even seated, he's got half an inch and over a hundred pounds on the rather emaciated blonde. "Dude, what the fuck?" he yells, holding Kenny's wrists in his big hands, trying to keep him away while Kenny flails violently.

Stan wraps his arms around Kenny's waist and yanks him away. "McCormick, calm the fuck down!"

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Kenny screams, and Kyle's baffled to hear his voice, not only how it sounds without the hood, but what puberty's done to it. Kenny dropped out of school in ninth grade, and Kyle hadn't seen him much after that. He's also never seen Kenny angry before; as far back as Kyle can remember, he's been mild-mannered and quiet.

Kenny manages to escape Stan's grip, but he thankfully doesn't lunge at Cartman again. He stands there, shaking with rage, glaring down at Cartman, who looks legitimately shaken up. He's watching Kenny warily.

"Well?" he asks finally, when no one else speaks.

Kenny bares his teeth. "Dougie's dead, you motherfucker!"

"What?" Stan asks.

"Butters' little ginger friend? He's dead! I saw the fucking body with my own eyes. Butters found the poor kid and came to me hysterical!"

Kyle frowns. He'd sort of kept in contact with Butters via Facebook, but Dougie he'd forgotten about. He remembers now, though. The General Disarray to Butters' Professor Chaos. He must be devastated.

 _But why did Butters go to Kenny?_ he wonders vaguely.

Stan suddenly comes to his senses. "Kenny, hey, why'd they let you in here? Civilians can't be in here, buddy. You're gonna have to leave."

Kenny ignores him. "First Hunter, now Dougie? Being a serial killer is one fucking thing, Eric, but killing your neighbours? People you grew up with? People who trusted you? What the fuck?"

"I'm not the perp, goddamnit!" Cartman yells, standing abruptly. Kyle sees now he's in cargo shorts, and he's got shackles around his ankles, which look red, undoubtedly rubbed raw. "How long's Dougie been dead? I've been in here three days, I couldn't have killed him!"

"I don't know, I'm not a fucking coroner!" He hasn't even noticed Kyle, but Kyle can't blame him for that. Kenny takes a deep breath and glares at Cartman. When he speaks, he sounds... sad. "You disgust me. Fuck you."

And then he's leaving.

There's silence for a moment, before Cartman says, "See what these vicious false rumors are doing to my reputation? My best friend hates me! I was universally well liked, the kindly gay mechanic who smiled at children and helped old ladies across the street. Now I'm gonna be ostracized and hated! Just like the Jews in the Holocaust, Kahl! You should feel sympathetic!"

"You and the Jews have nothing in common. The Jews hadn't done anything wrong. You, on the other hand-" Kyle shakes his head.

Cartman shrugs calmly, and if Kenny managed to upset him, he's composed himself again. "Regardless, Kahl, since you're here, I'd like to discuss some more...personal issues. Stan, do you mind leaving us?"

Kyle stares at him. "Cartman, we're in an interrogation room. You're potentially gonna be charged with the murders of eight people. You wanna talk about you and I?"

Cartman winks at him. "You're the only thing I've ever wanted to talk about. I think about you constantly, Kahl."

"Cartman," Kyle starts, ready to shut him down, but he's interrupted by the door opening once more.

It's Morgan. His lips are pressed tightly together. "Agent Broflovski and Officer Marsh, a word, please."

"Morgan!" Cartman says, jovial yet taunting. "We meet again! You know, I'm not usually into black men, but for you I'd make the exception." Morgan ignores him as Kyle and Stan follow him out. Cartman says to the empty room: "I'm just saying, Derek, that you, sir, are a mighty fine piece of dark meat!"

"Was he always like this?" Morgan asks once he's shut the door.

Kyle nods. The other detectives are giving him apprehensive looks. "Believe it or not, he's not nearly as bad now as he used to be."

Morgan suddenly puts his hands on his hips, brows drawn together angrily. "Were you not planning on telling us you were in a relationship with the suspect?"

Kyle frowns. He'd been too preoccupied to consider the consequences he'd face once Morgan found out. "It was unprofessional of me, I'll admit, and I apologize for that. I didn't think it was necessary yet."

"Of course it was necessary." Morgan's somehow able to keep his voice low and steady, which Kyle respects, although he looks slightly irked, like Kyle's wasting his time or something. "It's necessary because you've had a sexual and romantic relationship with an alleged serial killer. You know him inside and out. We need to sit down with you immediately."

"Oh, come on, there's no need for that. Shouldn't we be dealing with Dougie?"

"He's being dealt with. Broflovski, I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it absolutely essential. But I think it may aid in this investigation."

Kyle looks at Stan, who's chewing his lip and staring at Cartman through the glass. He's petting his mustache, as if he's assuring it that Cartman's insults aren't true. _Well, he's no help._

Kyle considers his options. He supposes answering rather embarrassing questions could save lives and help justice be served, and he's not sure what else he could possibly do to help at the moment.

He doesn't like the idea of discussing Cartman behind his back, though, so he comes to a decision. "I'll do it, but only if Cartman - uh, Eric - can join us."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Stan says, frowning.

"We can gauge his reactions," Morgan says, nodding slowly. "Sounds like a plan. Us three will head in." He gives one of the other FBI agents, an authoritative but rather plain looking guy, a brisk nod. It's returned, and accompanied with a tight-lipped frown.

Morgan pushes the door open, gesturing for the two younger officers to follow him.

Cartman beams when he sees them. "I must be irresistible! You guys just keep coming back!" He takes in their glum expressions, and his smile briefly falters, but then he quips, "I haven't been alone in a room with this many hot guys since college. Just kidding, I didn't go to college. I saw a porno like this once, though."

Morgan flips a chair around and straddles it, arms crossed across the top. "Eric, we need to be serious. There's lives at stake."

"I'll try, but no promises," Cartman says with a grin.

"Eric, you implied that you and Kyle had dated at one point?"

Cartman nods. "Yeah, sophomore to senior year." He flashes Kyle a dazzling smile. "Best two and a half years of my life."

"How'd you two start dating?"

"Kahl, you wanna tell this story?"

Kyle looks down at his feet. "We'd been arch-rivals for all of elementary school and junior high, but sophomore year, something just changed."

"I got hot, is what changed, and Kyle's gay ass finally took notice," Cartman says with a smirk aimed at Kyle, who looks away. Cartman looks back at Morgan. "I was a fat obnoxious fuck for the first fifteen years of my life, and honestly I still am, but tenth grade I made a vow to lose weight and get myself a boyfriend, so I did. It just happened to be Kyle."

Stan speaks now, which surprises everyone. "I remember. They came to school holding hands, and everyone freaked out. I asked Kyle what happened, and he said Cartman showed up at his window and asked him out, and he said yes."

Cartman shrugs. "That's all that happened. Kinda boring, if you ask me. We had more fun in fourth grade. Heh, remember when you sucked my balls when we were ten, dude?"

Morgan's pursing his lips. "I assume you two had sex, right?"

Here came the dreaded sex questions. Kyle braces himself and says, "Yeah."

"I was his first," Cartman brags.

Everyone ignores him, although Stan gives him a wary look. He probably doesn't like the possibility that Kyle lost his virginity to a serial killer. Kyle doesn't like that possibility either.

"Who was the receiving partner?" Morgan asks, without flinching. Kyle admires how rock-like he is. He doesn't flinch at anything. He bets he'd be a good friend to have during a breakup. 

Cartman gives him a disbelieving look. "Dude, we were a gay couple. So we both had dicks and we both had holes. Meaning, unlike you boring heteros, we had the ability to switch it up. Christ, you straight people know nothing. Like, not trying to be a heterophobe or anything, but seriously."

"Oh my God," Stan says, quietly.

"We both fucked each other, big fuckin' deal."

"Yeah, it was pretty equal," Kyle blurts, hoping Cartman watches his filthy mouth. He doesn't want to lose his co-workers respect just because of the sex life he had fourteen years ago. He's not ashamed of his sexuality, but he hasn't dealt with homophobia since high school and he definitely doesn't want to now. Besides, these days, he's all but celibate. Work is his lover.

Morgan doesn't look amused. "Was Eric ever sadistic in bed, Kyle?"

Kyle's cheeks are heating up, and apparently it's obvious because Cartman is snickering, but he thinks long and hard so that he can give a thorough answer. "No, never in bed. He was, um, pretty gentle. We never got kinky or anything."

"Except that one time," Cartman laughs, and Kyle stiffens.

"What did that one time entail?" Morgan asks, looking almost irritated, as if they're annoying him. It makes Kyle angry, for some reason, but he swallows it down.

Stan, on the other hand, is trying not to smile. He remembers 'that one time', and how ridiculous it all was. South Park's first r-rated gay scandal. Everyone talked about it for weeks.

"We fucked at Stark's Pond, this lake, at like, three am, but these little kids were fucking around and they saw us and told their parents and their parents called the cops," Cartman's wearing a proud smile as he tells the story. "We got a year in jail for public indecency, but we got out of it. Just had to do some community service."

"How'd you get out of it?" Morgan asks.

"Sucked some dicks," Cartman says.

"He's kidding!" Kyle shouts.

"Am I, Kahl?"

"We were friends with the police chief," Kyle tells Morgan hurriedly, glaring at Cartman, who's laughing. Kyle's cheek are heating up, and he feels as flustered as he did when he used to argue with Cartman in fourth grade. It's addicting. He's missed it.  "He let us off because we were 'just being kids.'"

"It was hot, wasn't it, Kahl?" Cartman says suddenly, eyes on Kyle and Kyle only, and the redhead can't look away. "Do you remember that night? I jerk off to it every day, that's how fondly I remember that night."

Kyle does remember that night - remembers the urgency, the passion, the need. Remembers Cartman's hands on him, his tongue, his warmth, his presence. Remembers being young and dumb and horny and in (what he thought was) love.

"Let's stay on track," Morgan says, lips pressed tight, but Cartman's not listening. He only has eyes for Kyle.

"You know, I wasn't kidding about that porno, Kahl. It was in an interrogation room and everything. The two cops held the suspect down and fucked him until he confessed. Like some kind of twisted church porno. We could make that a reality, if you wanted."

"Eric-" Morgan warns.

Kyle interrupts him. He's pissed because, as revolting as Cartman's filthy words are to the logical side of his mind, his dick is taking interest. "You're sick," he says harshly. "Like, legitimately depraved."

Cartman shrugs. He hasn't blinked. It's unnerving. "Made my way through all the gay dudes in town. I'm carrying on my mom's legacy, you know? I need fresh meat."

Morgan slams his fist on the table. "Enough!"

"What are you, a homophobe? Can't handle a little gay imagery? Well, guess what? I used to fuck Kyle doggy style and call him my little Jew bitch! And he got off on it! How's that make you feel, huh?"

Stan lets out an undignified squeak, and Kyle puts a hand over his mouth, cheeks heating.

Morgan stands up, so he can glare down at Cartman. "That's not relevant to the interrogation, Eric. Gross out factor won't work."

Cartman smirks and kicks his feet up on the table. "You know, sometimes, I'd even let him eat my ass after he fucked it, if I was feeling real generous."

Kyle flushes bright red. One look at Stan's nauseous face has him telling the brunette, "Cartman, stop, _please_."

Cartman crosses his arms across his big belly. "Lemme go home and I'll stop talking about the fantastic sex Kahl and I used to have."

"You know we can't do that, Cartman," Stan says, still looking a bit green. He's always been weird about sex. Allegedly, he even puked right before his and Wendy's first time.

"This one time-" Cartman starts, but Kyle rushes forward and slams his hand down on the table.

"Listen, you fat fuck. I could give two shits if we used to date. Right now, I want to find this killer. I'm gonna arrest this motherfucker, regardless of if it hurts me to. And at the moment, the evidence is not in your favor. So if you work with us, we can get this shit sorted out, and you can go home, okay?"

Cartman looks at Kyle for a long moment, eyes searching his face. He's not smirking for once. Finally he gives an almost bashful, almost charmed little smile and looks down at the table. "You sure are hot when you're determined." Kyle hears Stan give an exasperated sigh, and the door opens and then slams, but Kyle keeps staring Cartman down. Eventually, Cartman sighs. "Alright, fine. I'll be good."

"Wonderful," Morgan says. Kyle's surprised; he thought Morgan had given up and stepped out of the room, but apparently it was Stan. "Wha-"

"Not for you, you sexy chocolate god," Cartman says, waving a dismissive hand. "As pretty as you are to look at, you're a fucking asshole. I'll only talk to Stan and Kahl, and seeing as Stan's a pussy, I guess Kahl and me are gonna get some alone time, huh?"

Morgan stands up, lips pressed. "We need to have a meeting. Eric, we'll be back."

"I'll be waiting," Cartman says, hands folded over his belly once more.

Kyle follows Morgan out of the room and shuts the door behind him, giving one last glance at Cartman. As soon as the door's closed, Morgan looks at the gaggle of cops. "Who thinks he's our guy?"

Several hands go up. Kyle counts them warily. Four out of nine, including a hesitant Stan and excluding Morgan and Kyle.

Morgan shakes his head and goes to talk to a couple of other agents. He sends in an overweight, older cop to watch Cartman, who gives him a disgusted look, then shrugs. "You know what? Fuck it. I don't usually go for bears, let alone, like, daddy bears, but I guess I could make an exception."

Kyle leaves before he has to hear more.

"My God," he tells Stan as they stand outside the interrogation room door. He rubs at his temples. "He's repulsive."

Stan's pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's done that to every cop that's talked to him. Been flirtatious, I mean, and all...sexually charged. It makes every cop uncomfortable, and he won't stop, so we can't get anything out of him. It's genius, but in the worst way. And it's so fucking frustrating. He's just wasting everyone's time."

Kyle shakes his head. "I can't believe I dated that piece of shit."

"Yeah, it's crazy. I think-"

The door opens just then, nearly hitting Stan, and Morgan comes out hurriedly, holding several files in his hand. "Meeting in the board room. I need to call up a friend."

All the occupants of the room flood out after him, and Stan and Kyle have to flatten themselves against the wall so they're not crushed. Several leave out the main door, but Morgan and two others head into another door.

Stan and Kyle exchange a look, before following.

Morgan's sat at the head of the table, dialing hurriedly on his phone. One of the other agents, a blonde woman, waves them in. Kyle takes a seat, and Stan follows suit.

The phone's on speaker, and it dials twice before a pinched voice says, "Hello?"

"Hey, pretty boy," Morgan says, and Kyle raises his eyebrows and glaces at Stan, who looks just as surprised. "We got a interesting case here. Need your expertise."

The guy on the other end sounds out of breath. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

Morgan snickers. "You okay, Reid?"

"Yeah, uh, I was just working out."

Morgan grins at the other agent in the room; a mirthful brown haired woman. "Oh really? Since when does Spencer Reid work out?"

"Since two weeks ago when I could barely lift a twelve pack of soda and this big guy had to help me get it into my cart. Tell me about the case, Derek."

"Alright, so the unsub is targeting young Jewish men with red hair, draining their tires, picking them up, drugging them, and then taking them home. From there, he ties them up, rapes them, strangles them, and dumps them in the same place every time. He's killed eight so far."

Something dawns on Kyle, and he leans into Stan to whisper, "Dougie's not Jewish. I was the only Jewish kid in South Park, besides Ike. I would've remembered if he was."

"He recently converted," Stan answers. "He met a Jewish girl from, uh, Layfayette, I believe, and he liked the religion."

"Shit," Kyle says, sitting back and tuning back into Morgan's conversation.

"...yeah, thing is, we've got a suspect in custody."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but the guy's a wackjob."

"All these killers are."

"We're not sure if he's the unsub, though."

"Can you send me the interrogation tapes? If I watch them, I'll probably be able to tell you a lot more."

Morgan looks at the two female agents. One shrugs, but the other nods. "Yeah," he says, "we can get you that."

"Okay. Talk to you in a while."

"Uh huh. Thanks, Spence."

"No problem, Derek."

The line goes dead, and Morgan nods. "Wilson, can you get Reid that tape?"

The blonde nods and stands.

"Prentiss, I wanna go see the newest crime scene. Shouldn't take long. We'll be back before Reid's done."

"I'll come with," the brunette woman, who must be Prentiss, says.

Morgan looks at Stan and Kyle. "You two coming?"

Stan stands. "I will."

Kyle's surprised, since Stan's so squirmish.

"I tutored Dougie in high school," Stan explains. "I need to see him."

Kyle nods at him, before looking to Morgan. "I'll stay behind. Maybe talk to Cartman again."

"Feel free. You might actually get something out of him if it's one on one."

They all leave, and Kyle takes a deep breath. It takes exactly four seconds for him to start sobbing, all his bottled up emotions pouring out; his frustration, his sadness, his pain.  A case has never made him cry before, but this one is overwhelming.

He stops crying after a few minutes, but he's still a sniffly mess when the phone rings. Kyle stares at it a long moment, before wiping his face with his suit sleeve, and, against his better judgement, answering it.

"Hey, babe," a woman on the other end says, and Kyle frowns. This call was clearly meant for Morgan, who apparently is fucking his entire team. "So check this out. Eric Cartman was arrested seven times as a minor for petty crimes, but one time stuck out to me in particular. He was arrested for public indecency with his boyfriend, Kyle Broflovski, who happens to be a Jewish redhead. And, get this-"

"Hello," Kyle interrupts, startling the lady, who gives a surprised little shriek. "I'm Agent Kyle Broflovski, I'm assuming you're the technical analyst for this case?"

The lady sounds flustered. "Yes, um, yes, sir, I'm Tech Analyst Penelope Garcia, I'm on Agent Morgan's team, I, uh. What did you say your name was again?"

"Kyle Broflovski," Kyle says again.

"You...oh. Oh my. Okay, uh, I apologize, I thought I was speaking to Morgan."

"It's alright. Can I ask you to search up some information for me?"

"Of course! Of course."

"Alright, wonderful. Can you give me a general summary of the suspect?"

Garcia hesitates, but then dutifully answers, "Eric Cartman, age thirty-one, born in his mother's home town of Danbury, Nebraska, but he moved to South Park when he was four months old. He was the illegitimate child of Liane Cartman and an unidentified man."

"His dad was Jack Tenorman."

"Oh, wow, the football player?"

Kyle nods, then realizes she can't see him and says, "Yeah. We found out when he was ten."

"Oh, wow. Haven't heard that name in years. Oh, oh dear, he died, bless his soul...my God, he was shot for trespassing?"

Kyle hasn't thought of Scott Tenorman since that whole incident. It was a gruesome memory he deliberately blocked out. "Um, yeah. Cartman, uh, was indirectly responsible for Mr. and Mrs. Tenorman's deaths."

Garcia sounds a little shaken up. "It says his half-brother, Scott Tenorman, was in a mental institution. What - what exactly did Eric do?"

Kyle frowns. He doesn't want to revisit those memories. He ignores her question. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"Graduated high school with average grades. Didn't go to college. Bought an empty building with a Leopold Stotch six years ago, which he turned into an auto repair shop. He's been arrested three times since then, once for being drunk in public, once for domestic abuse, and once for getting rowdy at some kind of protest a couple years back."

Kyle raises his eyebrows. Domestic abuse? What the hell? He'll have to ask Stan about that. "Anything else?"

"That's about it. Oh! Uh, his mom-"

Kyle misses what she says, because there's some kind of ruckus outside. He stands. "I've gotta go. Thank you so much, bye!"

"Oh, uh, okay, I-" Kyle hangs up on her and opens the door. Cartman's being yanked forcibly down the hallway by four cops. They're all taller than him, and more muscular, but still seem to be struggling because he keeps fighting them.

"That bitch was asking for it!" Cartman's shouting. "She was egging me on! What the fuck!"

Kyle grabs the sleeve of the last officer to walk by.  "Uh, sorry, what the hell happened?"

The woman smooths her sleeve down where his harsh grip has crinkled it, then looks him up and down. "We sent a cop in to try and rile him up. It worked, and he punched the poor woman. He's going back into his holding cell."

Kyle's eyes widen. "He punched a woman?"

"Well, tried to, but it was hard in the cuffs. But he still tried to hit a cop."

"What the hell did she say to rile him up?"

"Well, the suspect was sexually abused as a child, so we told the cop to see if she could get a reaction if she compared the abuse to the murders."

"You really thought that was a good idea?"

"Sometimes if they're perverse with you, you've got to be perverse back."

 Kyle stares at her, in disgusted disbelief, and shakes his head. "Where do I go to view the tapes?"

"That's not necess-"

"What room? Please?"

The lady huffs and points. Kyle thanks her briskly and heads into the door she'd directed him to.

It's lined with TV screens. Each features a different moment during the interrogation; in two of the scenes, it's just Cartman and Morgan, and in three of them, it's Kyle and Cartman and Morgan and Stan. One even features Kenny. All of them are muted.

The blonde cop from earlier is sitting in there, typing hurriedly at a computer. She looks up as he comes in.

"Hi," he says, out of breath for some reason, "can I watch the last fifteen minutes of Eric Cartman's interrogation tape?"

She points at a screen on the far left that features Cartman and a younger redheaded woman. She turns back to her computer and fiddles with something, and the screen rewinds itself, VHS style, static and all, and then stops. She turns up the volume, and Kyle registers the familiar noise Apple devices make when they're turned up.

On the screen, in all his pixely glory, Cartman's singing Take on Me loudly to himself, clearly bored. Kyle smiles; he's still got a singing voice that's undeniably good in the most annoying way. Cartman stops when the door opens, and the redhead woman steps into the room. "Hi," she says, her voice gentle. "My name's Amelia Young. Is it alright if I talk to you?"

"Why the hell not?" Cartman replies, grumpy. "You know, you guys should really make these chairs padded. My ass hurts like a son of a bitch."

She smiles awkwardly, taking a seat, before leaning in. "Eric, what was your childhood like?"

He rolls his eyes. "Same as everyone else. Boring. I watched a lot of shitty TV and ate a lot of shitty food and hung out with some shitty people."

This hurts Kyle a little. It feels personal. He shakes the hurt off and continues watching. 

"What was your home life like?"

Cartman stiffens, just barely, then relaxes. His tone is light and airy. "Well, I was an only child, and I didn't have a dad. My mom was great, she did anything I wanted, and she was nice, and she cooked good food."

The lady's nice facade fades, and she says, harshly, "We know your mother was promiscuous, Eric."

Cartman scowls, his own falsely calm demeanor leaving, too. "Yeah. Yeah, she was a slut, but she was a good woman, and she did the best she could as a single mom."

Officer Young shakes her head. "We know what she let those men do to you."

"What are you talking about?" Cartman prickling up, sort of how cats do when they're angry.

The officer stares him down. "Did you fuck your victims like those men fucked you?"

Cartman's voice rises angrily. "First of all, the men my mom entertained fucked _with_ me a handful of times, but they never laid a goddamn hand on me. They never even tried. They knew my mom wouldn't let them, and they also knew better than to try anything in a small town like this. Sleeping with the town whore was already scandalous enough. Trying to go all pedo on her kid? No fucking way. And second of all, I don't have any victims, you dumb broad."

Young ignores him. "Did it feel good? You got off on their fear, didn't you? Their defenselessness? Just like those men got off on yours."

"I told you, asshole, I'm not the motherfucking perp! And I wasn't fucking sexually abused."

The lady just looks at him a moment. Then: "Are you in denial?"

"No, I'm not fucking in denial. Whatever you've got in your files on me is bullshit and you can't use it against me 'cause it's not true!"

The lady speaks again, but the door opens behind Kyle opens and he turns around. It's Stan, looking wild. His nose is pink from the outside cold and his hair is messy and wind-blown.

"Kyle! Kyle! Morgan's smart friend called back, we need to get in there."

Kyle stands instantly. "Thanks!" he calls to the blonde cop, already heading out the door, but she's standing, too. Stan leads them back into the conference room, where Morgan and seven other cops are gathered around a laptop. There's no more seats open around the table, so Kyle stands behind one of the chairs and peers at the screen curiously.

Reid is a messy-haired twig-like man with kind, intelligent brown eyes and an awkwardness to him. He speaks quickly, like his mouth can't keep up with his mind. "Alright, I watched the interrogation tapes, and Garcia sent me some files that I read over. I've come to the conclusion that Eric Cartman's not your unsub."

Relief washes over Kyle, and he visibly sags. He hopes no one notices. He's not sure if he should allow himself to be relieved just because of one agent's opinion, but he hopes to God the man's right.

"Why you say that, Reid?" Morgan asks, leaning forward intently, elbows on the table.

On screen, Reid grimaces. "As...uncomfortable as the subject is, the sex questions told me the most. For one, he's comfortable with being the receiving partner during, uh... intercourse. He even enjoys it, and he's comfortable being in a submissive position. Our unsub, he's not like that. He's probably been raped or made to have sex in a certain way that he didn't like. He views being the receiving partner as a punishment. It's a humiliating experience for him. Sort of like Dahmer; he started drugging his sex partners because the idea of them asking him to be on the receiving end gave him anxiety, and that evolved into murders."

Stan speaks from beside Kyle, brows pulled together. "Cartman was sexually abused when he was a kid, and he used to have a weird obsession with humiliating us - us meaning his friends. Like, he used to try to force us to do sexual things, usually with him, if we lost bets to him, only he didn't view them as, you know, gay or sexual in nature, he just viewed them as humiliating. One time, he literally chased Kyle across the country after Kyle lost a bet to him, and the stakes were that Kyle would suck his balls. It was insane. We were ten."

"He's right," Kyle says tightly, fidgeting uncomfortably when everyone turns to look at him. "But his views changed over the years. When we had sex for the first time, he kept asking me if I was okay and if I was enjoying it. I think he needed affirmation that I wasn't having a bad time, because he used to view sex as a bad time."

"How bad was the abuse?" Reid frowns down at his files. "It wasn't on record."

"According to Cartman, not bad at all," Stan says, combing a hand through his hair. "We all knew Cartman was psychologically fucked up as a kid, but we didn't know why, we just knew not to fuck with him." Suddenly, he clamps a hand over his mouth, looking horrified. "Oh my God, excuse my profanity."

A couple of officers chuckle. Kyle ignores them and speaks, serious as ever. "He's always been really good at lying to himself. I don't think the abuse was bad, I mean all abuse is bad, but I don't think he was, you know. Extensively abused. I don't think it was severe. Regardless, knowing him, he's probably convinced himself it didn't happen."

"It's surprising how open he is about sexuality, if he really was abused," Morgan comments. "You'd think it'd be a triggering subject for him."

"People cope with sexual abuse differently," Reid says, sounding like he's reading from a textbook. "Some become sex addicts, some embrace a celibate life style or are asexual. Some avoid sex at all costs, while others gravitate towards it unconsciously. Others even depend on sex. It just depends. It's likely Eric depends on sex, to some degree."

"Anything else, Reid?" the brunette agent asks.

"Yes, yeah, he, uh." Reid looks at Kyle, squinting. "He mentioned you two liked to have sex on all fours. The unsub is raping the victims in a missionary position. Odd as it is, that tells us a lot. Namely, that if someone is framing Eric, they wouldn't know that little detail about your sex life. If Eric was the unsub, and he was trying to recreate memories of you, he would pose his victims in the position he remembers having sex with you in. Plus, um, missionary is a sort of intimate position, so it is significant. A lot of killers who sodomize their victims do it from behind, because it dehumanizes the victims, and makes it a more animalistic experience. The fact that the unsub prefers to do it missionary tells us it's personal to him, like, um, like doggystyle would be personal to Eric. This unsub is trying to frame Eric, so he's doing things he thinks Eric would do, but he's indulging himself in that particular way."

Another cop cuts in. "You sure he doesn't just do them missionary so he can choke them easier? Or maybe so he can see their face?"

Reid shrugs. "Possibly. But I'm still almost positive he was framed. Eric Cartman is a complicated individual - but I don't think he's the killer."

 Kyle closes his eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. His limbs feel weak. 

"Alright," Morgan says, "thanks, Reid."

Kyle hears the sound of the laptop being shut, and he opens his eyes and looks around. Stan's watching him worriedly. Kyle ignores him and addresses Morgan. "What next?"

Morgan sighs. "I trust Reid's judgement, and besides, we can only legally hold him for another fifteen hours. He'll go home tomorrow." He slams his fist against the table suddenly, startling many of the officers around him, Stan included. "Damnit! We wasted four days on that bastard! You know how hard it is to find someone who's framing someone else? We can't hunt for them, because they're not them, they're pretending to be someone else. Fuck!"

Kyle purses his lips and looks at Stan, who puts a hand on his back. "I think we should get going," he says lowly. "Not much else we can do."

The redhead nods slowly. "You're probably right. Yeah."

Stan puts a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "We'll be back at noon, alright?"

Morgan doesn't reply, and Stan looks to Kyle, shrugs, and starts to exit the room.

"Wait," Kyle says suddenly as they head down the hallway. "I need to do something."

"Yeah?"

"Where's Cartman? Can I speak to him?"

"I don't think that that's a good idea-"

"I need to. Please, Stan."

Stan's lips twist, but then he lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine. This way."

Kyle's lead into yet another room. There's a man sitting at a desk, who gives them a nod and wheels over to the lone door behind him. He pokes at some buttons, and it opens electronically. Stan heads through it, and Kyle follows.

It's lined with prison cells; seven of the twenty are occupied. None of them are in prison clothes, and no one looks up as they enter. There's a tatted young woman who's playing cards through the bars with the bearded old man next to her, and a buff guy taking a shit on the metal toilet in his cell, and a middle aged woman who seems to be mediating. The other two people are sleeping on the uncomfortable looking beds. 

Then there's Cartman, who's laying on the ground and staring up at the roof of his cell. 

"I'll be out here," Stan says quietly, pointing out the door. "Just push this button when you're done." He points to a yellow button on the wall, and then heads out the door, which shuts behind him.

Kyle takes a deep breath and starts down the narrow aisle, towards Cartman's cell.

"Hey, pretty boy," the tatted woman says, flashing him a grin. She's got golden teeth, and way too much makeup. "It's rude to ignore people!" she yells when he walks by without acknowledging her.

He stops at Cartman's cell and crouches down, tapping gently at one of the bars. The metallic sound rings out. Cartman doesn't move, but Kyle hears his voice, quiet and gruff. "What the hell do you want?"

"To apologize. For what happened between us. I was too stubborn and naive to see it, but I was in the wrong, and I understand that now. So I'm saying sorry. I'm sorry I fucked you over, Cartma- uh. Eric."

Cartman lifts his head. Then he rocks on his back and heaves himself up into a sitting position. It makes Kyle laugh, but he stops when Cartman glares at him. 

"I'm sorry," Kyle says again, tugging at his tie. He can't wait to take off this damn suit. Usually he doesn't mind his work clothes, but everything feels tight and restrictive today. He wants to get naked and watch reality TV for a couple of hours.

Cartman's eyes track the movement. "You really fucked me up. You know that, Kyle?"

Kyle hangs his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

He's surprised to see three chubby fingers poke through the bars. He looks up. Cartman's staring at him with earnest eyes. Reaching for him.

Kyle grabs his fingers, and it hurts, it's a psychical ache in his chest, how much he missed his touch. He's mad at himself for it, but he can't deny the shock that surges through him.

"After I get out of here," Cartman says, face pressed up to the bars, "and you find the piece of shit responsible, I'm gonna shave, and get dressed up in nice clothes, and I'm gonna take you out to a nice dinner, like I should have done fifteen years ago. And then I'm gonna take you home and fuck you so hard you won't remember why you left me, you're just gonna remember how much you love me."

Kyle's dick twitches at that, but he squeezes his eyes shut and leans back, putting distance between the two of them. "It's not that simple, Cartman."

"It could be." Cartman lets go of Kyle's hand, and his fall to his lap. "It could be," he says again.

"But it's not."

Cartman looks down. "Yeah. I know."

Kyle's tearing up, despite himself. He feels the need to console Cartman, but he also needs some comfort for himself. His hand is small and slim enough to go through the cell's bars, so, impulsively, he pushes it through. Cartman regards it for a moment, before taking it in his own hand. Only he doesn't shake it, like Kyle was thinking he would. He pulls it further through the bars and presses it to his cheek, closing his eyes. "I miss you," he whispers, sounding choked up.

A single tear drips down Kyle's cheek. He watches Cartman for a moment. Despite the dim, eery lightning, he looks delicate and young in this state of tranquil contentment. It's the most tender Cartman's probably ever been in his life - more tender, even, then those beloved moments of vulnerability and serenity after they finished fucking, back in high school.

Finally, Cartman opens his eyes, lets go of Kyle's hand, and clears his throat. Something feels final; they both feel it. "Goodbye, Jew."

Kyle wiped at his eyes and forces a smile. "Goodbye, Eric."

He stands and hurries out before he gets too upset.

A press of the button and the door opens. Stan's on the other side, looking worried. "You okay?"

"Yep," Kyle replies automatically. Oddly enough, he feels rather numb now. Very drained and tired. He just wants to go to bed.

Stan studies him warily for a moment, then says, "Alright. Let's go home."


	4. Subterranean Homesick Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Enough!" Sheila shouts, and her commanding tone and presence, as usual, effectively shuts everyone else up. "My bubby just came home to me for the first time in over a decade. We will not be discussing any of the murders tonight, and I don't want to hear the name Eric Cartman out of any of you. I just want to hear about how my son's doing, alright?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to upload every week, yet here I am, a month later! I'm so sorry lol. Things have been busy, what with final exams and all, but I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I'll be back on schedule next week, I swear.
> 
> This chapter has a lot of Stan and Kyle bonding in it. I've never been big on Style, mostly because I find Stan too boring to be anything but a supporting character, but I'm really loving writing the scenes between them in this fic? Enough that my perception of Stan as a character and Style as a ship has sorta changed? It's just a really complicated friendship, but it's so fun, and it felt necessary to delve into it more. Hope it's as fun to read as it was to write.

Kyle considers that. He was intending to get a hotel up in Denver, since there's no hotels to be found in a quiet little town like South Park, but if Stan's offering a warm bed, he'll just forgo the hotel plans. Less of a drive anyway. "Home meaning what?" he asks.

"Well, I called your mom up when I found out you were coming out, and she wants us to come over for dinner tonight. But we decided you'd stay at my place, since I want you to meet the kids, and I wanna get some time with you before you leave, outside of when we're working together. Is that okay? I'm sorry I didn't ask you first."

Years ago, Kyle probably would've had a fit over people making plans involving him without consulting him first, but he's become significantly more passive since he turned twenty-five and matured enough to no longer see the point in getting upset over spilled milk. At present, he just shrugs. He hadn't seen his parents since last Pesach, when they drove out to visit, so it'll be good for him to visit with them again. He doesn't miss them, honestly, but he'd also thought he didn't miss the quaint mountain town he grew up in, until he arrived home.

They don't talk as they leave the station. A couple of officers give them nods, and Clyde gives a little wave, which Kyle returns. The two of them head out to the parking lot, and then wordlessly get into the car once Stan fiddles with his keys for an embarrassingly long moment. 

Kyle puts his seat belt on, but Stan just sits, hands on the wheel, eyes unfocused.

Kyle knows better than to ask if he's okay, so he coughs awkwardly into his fist, hoping Stan will snap out of it. He's already stressed out enough at the thought of seeing his family; he doesn't need to worry about Stan on top of that.

Stan looks over, jostled out of his thoughts. Kyle raises an eyebrow at him, a silent question, but Stan just gives him a sad little smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and starts the car.

The eight-minute drive to the Broflovski residence allows Stan to fill him in on random town happenings. Kyle keeps asking about various citizens, and Stan tiredly but happily obliges him. He's smiling soon enough, as if he's so wrapped up in reminiscing that he's forgotten all his troubles, and soon enough Kyle, too, has relaxed significantly. 

They're laughing about a childhood memory when Kyle remembers a certain teacher he hadn't thought of in years. "Hey, what's Garrison up to these days?"

Stan's smile disappears. "Oh, shit, dude. Garrison died seven years ago."

Kyle conveys his shock the best way he knows how: with a passionate, "Holy shit."

Garrison was probably the weirdest person Kyle had ever met, but he couldn't imagine his childhood without him. He'd been looking forward to paying him a visit, seeing how he was doing - seeing if he was still the same perverted bigot Kyle remembered.

Curious, he asks, "How?"

"Heart attack. It was crazy, because I think we all expected him to die from, like, an STD contracted from rage-fucking another political figure or something, so for him to die of something so...normal was just bizarre."

"Holy shit," Kyle says again. He doesn't feel sad, but it's a little hard to fathom. Deaths are always weirdly unreal. Another question pops into his mind, one he doesn't want to ask, but knows he needs to. "Who, uh. Who else has died?"

"Hmm. Well, Ned, you remember him? He kicked the bucket a couple years back. Three, I think. Years ago, I mean. Complications with his heart, or his liver, or, uh, pancreas or something. Not sure. Ol' Jimbo's been a recluse since - I haven't seen him out of the house since the funeral. Shelley, she brings him food and stuff, but if I ask how he is, she just shrugs and says, 'He's alive.'"

"Damn." Ned and Jimbo were always kind, and though they sometimes put the boys in jeopardy, they always meant well. Kyle smiles fondly at the memory of the two of them taking Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman on their first hunting trip. The four of them used to do everything together - Kyle had tried to forget. He vividly remembers Stan puking at the blood when Jimbo started skinning the deer he'd shot, and the rest of them laughing at him. Speaking of blood...Kyle grins. "How is Shelley, anyway?"

Stan laughs. "She's okay. She's a pediatric nurse, ironically. She doesn't have any kids, but she got married a while back, remember? The blonde dude from Montana - Robert?"

She got married during the boy's senior year; Kyle went to the wedding, along with the rest of the town. Father Maxi, who died six years back, according to Stan, officiated the ceremony. Kenny, making a rare appearance, got super drunk and tried to dry hump Stan's mom. Kyle nods, gleefully. "Yep, I remember."

Stan just hums in response. There's a brief but awkward silence, a silence that allows their darker thoughts to creep to the surface. Kyle clears his throat and asks the dreaded question that's been on his mind this whole drive: "Did, um. Any parents die?"

Stan shakes his head. "I don't think so." He pulls up to a stop sign and thinks for a moment, and Kyle watches him, waiting, yet he's still startled when Stan blurts, "Wait, oh shit, yeah!"

 _Uh oh._ Kyle braces himself. "Who?"

Stan looks between Kyle's face and the road, biting his lip. "Butters' parents."

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up. "Shit, both of them?"

Stan nods solemnly. A minute ago they were joking about days passed; now they're facing the bitter truth of reality once more. It's upsetting to Kyle, and judging by Stan's frown, he doesn't like it either. "Uh, yeah. Ten years ago. Stephen drove them off a bridge when they were supposed to be going to dinner. Butters would've been in the car, too, but he didn't show up on time."

"Oh my God." Butters' family was always fucked up, but Kyle hadn't expected _that_.

"Yeah, it was pretty horrible."

"Damn," Kyle says, for lack of anything better. He's busy feeling bad for Butters. As cruel as his parents were, they were still his parents. Kyle can't imagine losing both his mom and dad, and he doesn't want to.

There's another brief silence as Kyle mourns and Stan lets him. Then Stan sighs and says: "I should probably tell you. Liane's gone, too."

Kyle's heart stops. "Cartman's mom is dead?"

Stan nods. "Breast cancer. They couldn't afford treatment. Cartman was depressed for months. It was like he was somewhere else."

"When was this?"

"Two years back."

The first boy disappeared almost two years back. "Oh shit. Stressor."

"Exactly."

They drive by Craig's childhood home, and Kyle takes a moment to wonder about him. He's married to Tweek, according to Cartman, but Kyle's not sure how much he can trust the things Cartman says. Something else comes to mind just then; something that's been bothering him. "Stan, um. Are Cartman and Butters still a thing?"

Stan raises an eyebrow and looks at him. "Why?"

"For the case." It's a lie, but if Stan knows that, he doesn't act like he does.

He gives Kyle a look, before focusing on the road again. "Well, yeah. They were dating when I came back from college, and I think they've been on and off since then. They've lived together for the past ten years, though."

"After Butters' parents died," Kyle says to himself.

"Yeah," Stan says thoughtfully, like he's never thought of that before.

"So they're serious?"

Stan shrugs. "They always came off as a strictly-business type relationship, although obviously there's a, you know, sexual component to it as well. I've never seen them kiss, though. So I don't think they're, like, soul mates or anything. But I think they need each other, to some degree. Like, they're both fucked up, so they balance each other out."

Kyle hums. He'd balanced Cartman out, too, or at least he liked to think he did. He certainly helped make him a better person in their time together, but considering Cartman's skills at manipulation, maybe that was all a front. He don't want to think about that, though. He's very worried about Butters, for some reason, so he decides to distract himself with that. That's part of a profile, anyway; learning about a suspect's home life. "Where's Butters been while Cartman's been in custody?"

"At their house, like normal. He visited him twice, but I think he's had his hands full managing the shop."

"He works there?"

"Yeah, as a secretary and an accountant of sorts. He's good with money and math, so Cartman put him in charge of fiances, plus he's all non-threatening and stuff, so he's good at customer service and consoling the freaked out kids who call crying because they banged up their dad's car."

"So Cartman's name is on the front, but it's a joint venture?"

"I'd say so. It's a pretty equal partnership. Cartman surprisingly lets Butters do a lot."

He's taking notes in his mind when he realizes they're talking about a thirty-two year old man and referring to him by a childhood nickname. "He still goes by Butters, huh?"

"Most people call him Leo these days. It's fucking weird. But everybody who grew up with him still call him Butters. And a lot of people know Cartman as Eric now, but again, a lot of us still call him Cartman. Old habits die hard, and all that."

"Uh huh." Kyle wets his lips, hoping Stan just rolls with his next question. "And, uh, about their partnership - does the same go for their relationship?"

"What?"

 _Shit._ "Well, a minute ago you said Cartman lets Butters do a lot in their business partnership. Does the same go for their relationship? Like, uh, Cartman doesn't treat Butters like he's his bitch or anything, right? I mean, he was always good to me, but he's always treated Butters differently, and besides, I never lived with the guy for ten years. Stuff changes once you're pretty much married to someone-"

Stan interrupts him abruptly, with startles Kyle. "Kyle, man, did you just ask if Butters is his bitch? Dude, you're, like, contributing to negative stereotypes about same-sex couples by forcing heteronormative standards onto them. You're gay, you should know this shit."

Kyle's actually bi, but he doesn't bother correcting Stan. He's more concerned with his random bout of liberalism, considering he thought Stan was on the conservative side. He laughs a little. "Damn, dude. How do you know about heteronormative standards?"

"Wendy's on Tumblr," Stan says, and Kyle nods knowingly. "She talks about social justice a lot. It's very informative, she's changed my views on a lot of things. She gets in arguments with my dad over politics every single Thanksgiving, though."

Kyle laughs. "I'd pay to see that."

This pulls a chuckle out of Stan. "Yeah, it's pretty funny."

Silence again. They're a block away from his parents' house, and Kyle's anxiety's back. He knows they can't discuss the case during dinner, so he's eager to ask all his questions now, in the short time they have left to talk. What Cartman said in his holding cell has been bothering him. About wanting to hook up with Kyle once they found the real killer. He cracks his knuckles, hoping it'll stop him from bouncing his leg. "They're faithful to each other, right?"

Stan frowns. "I think so?"

Kyle wants to be relived, but logically, he knows Stan doesn't know what goes on behind closed doors. No one does. He doesn't know what to think. At least he can hope that if Stan doesn't know about any affairs, Butters might not, either. "And, like. Cartman treats him well, right?"

Stan turns to frown at him. "Why are you asking so many questions about them, dude?"

"I just-" Kyle's hands go up, defensively, before he puts them back in his lap, defeated. He sighs and admits, "I dunno."

Stan, thankfully, manages to not be dense for once. He's stopped at a stop sign, and he's been here for longer than necessary, blinker still flashing, but there's no cars out at this time of night, so it hardly matters. He turns to look at Kyle. "Every time I see them, Butters is smiling and Cartman looks, I dunno, pleasantly annoyed. Like he's irritated, but there's really nowhere he'd rather be. Sometimes - _sometimes_ \- they hold hands, and I've never seen them argue in public. I think Butters adores Cartman, and Cartman begrudgingly loves him back.

He sighs and finally turns right. "But Cartman's had, uh, alcohol related problems, so there's been a couple of incidents where we had to go and deal with them for, um, disturbances. There wasn't any proof of spousal abuse or anything. Actually, I think I saw Cartman with bruises a couple of times, but never Butters."

Kyle frowns. According to Garcia, there was one instance where Cartman was arrested for domestic abuse. Why didn't Stan know about that? But he's more concerned with something else Stan said: "Butters smacks _Cartman_ around? That's.. unexpected."

Stan purses his lips. "Butters was in a mental health hospital after his parents' death. He came back different. Like, I mean, Butters was always different, but. It was like he'd been drained."

He pulls onto Kyle's street. Kyle's hearts beating too fast, and he quickly comes up with an excuse. "Any chance we can stop by and visit him real fast? I'm sure my mom won't mind, and we'll be quick."

Stan looks at Kyle the way he probably looks at his kids when they ask for something absurd. "He lives all the way in Denver, man."

"It's okay. We can call my mom and tell her we're still at the station, and we'll be there in less than an hour."

Stan rolls his eyes, but shrugs. "Fine, dude. Whatever."

He drives right passed Kyle's house. All the lights are on. It looks welcoming and warm.

Kyle squeezes his eyes shut and sags in his seat. His leg isn't bouncing anymore.

* * *

Denver's only a forty minute drive away. They fill the time with small talk, discuss life some more. Stan rambles about his kids and Kyle tries to be happy for him.

Eventually, Stan pulls up to a retro-looking one story home, in a cute little residential area. "Here we are!" he announces. "The Cartman-Stotch residence."

Only one light is on. Kyle frowns. "It looks so dark and lonely." The opposite of the Broflovski home, back in South Park, where a warm meal and people who love him are waiting. Kyle's regretting driving out now that he's here, but they've made it this far.

"I think it's current resident is feeling pretty dark and lonely at the moment," Stan says wryly, "considering his boyfriend and business partner is in jail."

"Touche." Kyle unbuckles and smooths his hair back, readying himself.

Stan's watching him, expressionless. Kyle used to be able to read him like an open book, but now he's practically a stranger. He wishes he knew what he was thinking. Fortunately, Stan usually tends to speak his mind. "You really wanna do this? I mean, we already questioned him. It's kind of pointless."

"We already drove all the way here, right?" Kyle starts to get out, even though Stan hasn't even turned the car off yet. "Besides, I'm not here to question anyone. I'm here to talk to an old friend."

"Okay," is Stan's simple reply, as he locks the door and follows Kyle onto the front porch. For all his faults, he's always been fiercely loyal - sort of like a dog. Kyle doesn't feel bad drawing that comparison because Stan would probably be delighted by it. 

Butters answers after three rings of the doorbell, and Kyle takes his appearance in. The odd spiked haircut he'd donned from preschool to twelfth grade is gone, now a messily styled undercut. His blue eyes have lost their twinkle, and his ever-present lopsided smile is missing. He's in a too-big t-shirt that's definitely Cartman's; size aside, it's got some Nascar nonsense on the front. The closest Kyle's ever been to a racetrack was watching that Cars movie with Ike when they were kids. Cartman tried to get him into it, but he thought it was stupid and only sat through the televised races to appease him. Fortunately, Cartman usually wanted to have celebratory sex after his favorite racer won, so Kyle did get something out of it in the long run. Kyle wonders if Cartman managed to get the more impressionable and pliant Butters into all his dumb interests.

Presently, said impressionable and pliant Butters is in shorts that might be swim trunks, and knee-high socks. For a thirty-two year old, he looks a little too much like a high schooler - if you ignore the dark bags under his eyes and the worried crease in his forehead, of course.

He looks between them, looking bedraggled and exhausted. "Hi, Stan," he says, and he still has his out-of-place Southern drawl, only it's deepened into something that's less hoarse and pitchy, and more velvety and smooth and bizarre. It's an odd change. He turns to Kyle, then frowns. "Um. Sorry, who are you?"

No stutter. Kyle smiles. "It's Kyle, Butters. Kyle Broflovski."

Butters looks confused, then surprised, before he smiles. Kyle notices it looks a little forced, but if Butters dislikes him, he can't blame him. There's always tension between two people who've dated the same guy; this scenario is clearly no different. When he speaks, his enthusiasm, too, sounds flat. "Well, hey, Kyle! Sure has been a while, hasn't it? What brings ya back ta Colorado?"

"This drama with Cartman," Kyle replies, watching Butters face carefully. His expression doesn't change. "I'm with the FBI."

"Wow, FBI? That's neat," Butters says, but his tone suggests he doesn't really think so. Something seems off, but Kyle can't put his finger on it. Then again, considering all the trauma the poor guy's been through, Kyle's not surprised he comes off as aloof. Butters opens the door a little wider; an invitation. "You fellas wanna come in?"

"Sure, but just for a second," Stan says, shrugging off his coat and stepping into the house. Butters steps back to let him in. "We're supposed to be somewhere, but Kyle wanted to stop by."

"You wanted ta see me, Kyle?" Butters smiles bashfully, closing the door behind Kyle as he steps in. He puts his hands in his pockets immediately after. "That's awfully nice of ya."

Kyle notices Stan taking his shoes off, so he follows suit, surveying the house as he does. It's a simple home; a cute old-fashioned kitchen, with a vintage stove and everything. There's a two-person, mint green table pushed against the wall, looking stylishly lonely, like an aesthetic shot out of a 70s romance film. Kyle fleetingly wonders who picked their furniture. Cartman has a flare for decorating, or at least he used to, but the retro look doesn't seem like his style. Then again, it doesn't seem like Butters', either. Why they settled on it, Kyle doesn't know. 

There's also a very barren living room. The only thing in it is a flat screen TV, a wooden coffee table, and two comfortable looking couches. There's no decoration, aside from a small framed collage of pictures of Butters and Cartman that looks awkward on the otherwise empty white wall. It's even hung crookedly. Kyle wants to get a better look at that when he can.

The house completely lacks personality, surprisingly. It feels cold and lifeless - nothing like how a home should really feel. A dark and plain hallway leads off into what must be their bedroom and bathroom. Actually, Kyle counts three doors; either they have separate bedrooms, or it's a guest bedroom, or maybe an office, or some kind of game room. Kyle wouldn't put it passed Cartman to claim a spare room as his man cave.

Kyle feels eyes on him, and looks at Butters. He realizes he's expecting some kind of answer. "Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

Butters gives a quick little shrug and heads into the kitchen. "I haven't been sleepin', but otherwise, I've been doin' fine. Just want Eric ta come home, is all. But he'll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, do ya boys want anythin' ta drink? We got, uh, some beer, and lemonade, and milk. Water, too, of course. Oh! I forgot, I made cookies."

Something about him reminds Kyle vaguely of Liane Cartman. It's a little unsettling, like Butters tried to channel Ms. Cartman after her death in order to comfort her son, and then it became a habit. Kyle narrows his eyes skeptically and watches Butters fumble around in the fridge.

Stan's apparently not nearly as observant, and if he is, he's not showing it. Or maybe he's just off duty. He takes a seat on one of the two fluffy looking brown couches and slouches comfortably. One corner of the one Stan's not in sags a little, like someone heavy sits there often. Kyle has a feeling that's Cartman's seat. It makes him smile.

"I'll have a beer," Stan says, kicking his feet up on the coffee table like he owns the place. It's surprisingly bold, and he clearly feels at ease in this house. Kyle wonders if he's over here a lot. "Thanks, buddy," he says when Butters brings a beer to him before heading back to the kitchen. Stan pops it open using the table his feet are on, and Kyle gapes.

Butters giggles and stops as he passes by him. He uses a finger to push Kyle's chin up, effectively closing his mouth. "It's okay, Kyle. Eric does that all the time, and Stan's a friend. And so are you, so make yourself at home, okay?"

He pats Kyle on the chest affectionately and goes to grab himself a glass of lemonade before taking a seat on the couch opposite of Stan.

Kyle processes that, then sits down next to Stan. He clears his throat and asks, "How's your business doing?"

"Me an' Eric's shop, you mean? Yeah, it's doin' fine. Customers and employees alike miss Eric, but we're managing." Butters smiles sadly, looking down at the ground, and Kyle sees his pockets are moving where his hands are shoved into them. He still nervously fiddles with his hands, only he hide it nowadays. Kyle takes note of that, then looks back up at Butters, who's wearing a melancholy smile. " _I_ miss him," he admits.

"You holding up okay?" Stan asks Butters, and Kyle takes it as an opportunity to survey that collage. There's about thirty pictures, ranging from elementary school to recently. It's bizarre to see. One picture, recently taken by the looks of it, features them standing outside a Broadway venue. Cartman's in a black beanie and a maroon colored sweatshirt that says New York New York on it, while Butters is bundled up in a thick black coat and a patterned scarf and a brown trapper hat that reminds Kyle of his own ushanka. He still has that hat, actually, but it's in storage. In the picture, Cartman's smiling like crazy, while Butters' mouth is covered by the scarf, but judging by his eyes, if he is smiling as well, it's not a genuine one.

Kyle points at it, cutting Stan off mid-sentence. He feels bad a moment later, but Stan doesn't look offended or annoyed. "Hey, y'know, I live in New York. You two could've stopped by."

"Oh, the Broadway picture?" Butters turns to look at it and smiles fondly. "Yeah. Eric wanted ta see the Book of Mormon in the worst way, so I took him for his birthday two years back."

"Ah, shit, I didn't know that!" Stan says. "I've wanted to see that for ages, but Wendy deemed it too offensive. Was it good?"

"Well, I thought it was stupid. Like the songs were kinda catchy, but the themes were immature. Meanwhile, ol' Eric had the soundtrack on repeat for two weeks and kept quoting it. He thought it was brilliant."

Kyle went to go see it on opening night, after being coerced by an FBI buddy. The premiere was filled with celebrities he could care less about and mostly ignored. He even saw the two guys who'd created it from a fair distance away, distinguishable by the dozens of reporters harassing them. They looked like a couple of douchebags to him. "I saw it," he says. "It was kinda stupid, but in an entertaining way. Like reality television. And Family Guy."

"Eric would have a heart attack if he heard ya comparin' Family Guy to Book of Mormon," Butters chuckles. "Gosh, I sure do miss him."

No one replies. Stan's sipping his beer and watching the muted TV, and Kyle's still inspecting that collage. The picture from Facebook, of the mechanic shop, is featured as well, along with some pictures of the two of them as kids. Butters and Cartman had a weird relationship in elementary school, so Kyle's surprised at the sight of not just one but three pictures of them smiling happily in each other's company. All three photos were taken in Cartman's house, so Liane must have taken them. What would she think of her son's current predicament if she was still alive? Undoubtedly, she'd claim his innocence. Kyle can almost hear her voice.  _"Oh, my poopsie-muffsie wouldn't murder anyone on purpose!"_

"Well," Stan says as he stands up, heading into the kitchen to throw his empty beer bottle away, "I think we better be going."

"Oh, yeah, of course. It was good to see you guys," Butters says, standing and heading to the door to show them out.

Kyle goes over to them. He's a little irked that Stan had a beer; now he has to drive, and he hates driving, especially at night. "Well, it was good seeing you, Butters."

"You can call me Leo," Butters says with a smile. "Everybody does."

Kyle shakes his head and follows Stan onto the porch. "You'll always be Butters to me. Is that okay?"

Butters shrugs. "Yeah, I don't mind. Bye."

With that, he shuts the door. Kyle stares for a moment, then heads over to the car.

"So?" Stan asks as Kyle gets in the driver's seat.

Kyle familiarizes himself with the car. He doesn't drive much these days - he takes the subway or a cab on off days, and another agent usually drives if they're on a case. He starts up the car, puts the headlights on, reaches for the gearshift, and starts down the street.

He forgot what Stan asked him, but he knows he said something, so he just replies, "Yeah," and hopes it's sufficient.

Stan laughs. "What kind of answer is that?"

"Sorry, I missed the question." Kyle squints at the road ahead of him. He hates driving at night. He can't see for shit. He feels vulnerable, and he hates that feeling more than anything. He focuses on the weight of the gun on his belt, and it feels grounding and reassuring.

"Didn't really ask one."

"Oh."

There's an uncomfortable silence. Stan's always been rather awkward, hands too big for his wrists and everything, and Kyle's become pretty reserved in recent years. He personally doesn't mind the silence, but Stan's squirming in his seat at it.

Kyle doesn't know what to say, but he knows he has to placate his mustached friend, so he sighs. He'd sort of missed being the only one who could settle Stan down, but now he's happy he'd unwittingly handed the responsibility of being Stan's caretaker to Wendy.

"That was nice," he says finally.

Stan relaxes, and there's relief in his voice. "You think so?"

"Uh huh. It was good to see him again."

"Yeah, Butters and Cartman are a nice couple, crazy as that is. After they moved out here, I didn't see them as much, but Cartman visited his mom every weekend, and usually Butters came, too. After Liane passed, they stopped coming out, so I came to visit a couple of times. I've been up here a lot in the last three days, 'cause I don't want Butters to be lonely, you know?"

"You care about him," Kyle says, raising an eyebrow. "You care about both of them."

"Well, yeah. They're my friends, and they've been as long as I can remember." Stan's voice gets quiet. "And they didn't leave me."

Kyle glances at him.

Stan's bowing his head. "Not like you did."

Kyle shakes his head. He figures this would come up eventually. Stan's an emotional, rather insecure guy, and he always has been. "Look, Stan, I'm not gonna apologize for making a life for myself. The things I wanted, South Park couldn't offer. New York gave me what I wanted and needed. I'm not small town guy like you, and I couldn't resign myself to a life of...of this mediocrity, you know? Growing up there is one thing; having to live there for the rest of my life? Hell no. I escaped, Stan. I made it out. And I don't regret that at all, and I refuse to apologize for it."

"You at least could've called," is Stan's quiet reply.

"I didn't have your number," Kyle lies. He really didn't have it, but that wasn't the primary reason he never bothered to contact him; he could've, if he tried hard enough. But he simply rarely thought of the life he'd left behind, or the people he'd abandoned. He didn't want to; it was a closed chapter, and he'd decided to leave it closed. Until today, of course.

Stan's smarter than Kyle gives him credit for. "You could've found my Facebook or something. It's not that hard. The Internet makes it easy to find old friends these days, Kyle. If you cared enough to, you would've got in contact."

Kyle purses his lips. It's been a long day; he doesn't want to talk anymore. So he doesn't, and Stan realizes he won't get anything else out of his friend, so he doesn't try. The only other words exchanged for the whole drive are, "You know how to get home, right?"

"Of course," it's Kyle's curt reply, and that's that.

By the time they pull up to Kyle's childhood home, it's nine o'clock, and Kyle's absolutely starving. Stan doesn't talk to him as they walk up to the front door, and he lets Kyle lead the way.

Kyle's finger hovers over the doorbell for a long moment, before he presses it and fixes his tie again. He really just wants to strip down to his boxers and climb into a nice big bed, but if he has to see his parents for the first time in over a year, he wants to look dapper.

His mom answers, and shouts, "Bubula!" as soon as she lays eyes on him. She wraps him up in a hug that squeezes the breath out of him, and he hears Stan chuckling behind them. Sheila pulls away and holds him by his shoulders, looking him up and down. "You look good, bubby, and I'm glad to see you, but why did you take so long? Stan said you'd be forty minutes, and you took two hours!" She spots Stan just then. "Oh, hello, Stan."

"Sheila," Stan greets with a smile, letting her pull him into a hug that's not nearly as crushing as the hug Kyle got.

"Got hung up at work," Kyle says simply, unbuttoning and then shrugging off his suit jacket. He hangs it in the coat closet - he hasn't seen one of those in years - and then turns to face his mom again. He hears voices coming from the living room. He wishes it felt good to be home, but he just feels anxious and tired.

Sheila's face is suddenly very serious, and she leans in. "Did you see him?"

Kyle knows who she's talking about. He sighs and looks at Stan, who's oblivious to their conversation, busy getting that tackey cordoroy jacket off. He's got a plain grey shirt underneath. "Yeah. We talked."

Sheila shakes his head. "I never liked that boy, Kyle. Not when you were children, and definitely not now. I thought he changed after you two started dating, he certainly seemed more mellow, but apparently he was just manipulating us. We should've known."

Although Cartman had theatrically come out as gay in seventh grade - and proceeded to have a fit when no one cared, since everyone kind of already knew - Kyle himself never publicly came out, even after the two of them had started dating. When they'd come to school holding hands the next day, it was sort of his way of coming out without officially coming out. But gossip spread fast in a small town, and by the time he came home that day, his parents were waiting for him, looking displeased.

His mom didn't care that he wasn't straight; she was only concerned about the guy he was dating, and Kyle didn't blame her for that. His dad had been a little more upset, about both his sexuality and the specific partner he'd chosen, and their father-son relationship had been fractured since. They'd only grown further apart as the years passed.

Kyle braces himself as the trio head into the living room. On the couches sits Gerald and the Marsh family. Well, the Marsh family Kyle grew up with, which excludes its younger, newer members. In front of him are Sharon, Randy, and Shelley. Sharon's still sporting a messy pixie cut, only her hair's gone grey with age. There's laugh lines around her mouth that make Kyle smile.

Randy's wheel-chair bound, like his father had been. He's lost a lot of weight, no longer the stocky but well-built man he'd once been, and his cheeks look sunken in, his face gaunt. He's still got the original version Stan's mustache, only it's whitish grey in color. He's got a beer in his hand.

Shelley does, too. She's gained weight, looking pleasantly plump. Her headgear is long gone - she got it off when the boys were in six grade, he remembers - but she's still scowling, all these years later. Her hair's tied up in a bun, and she's in scrubs, like she just got off work.

Then there's his dad. He's nearly bald, just a few whispy grey-white hairs atop his head, but he's still got his yarmulke on, the same one he's had for nearly forty years, and now he's got a golden mezuzah around his neck. He's the first one who spots Kyle, from his place in what must be his recliner, and opens his arms. "Kyle!"

Kyle smiles awkwardly when everyone turns to look at him.

"Well, isn't it my favorite FBI agent!" Sharon says, reaching to fondly pat Kyle on the back in greeting as he squeezes by her to sit beside Gerald and give him an awkward one-armed hug.

"Good to see you again, Mrs. Marsh," he tells Sharon cordially.

"Oh, it's Mrs. Donovan now," she replies casually. "Me and Randy divorced twelve years ago. My husband, Roger, is in the bathroom. He'll be out soon."

Kyle raises his eyebrows. Roger Donovan? As in Clyde's dad? Wow. He looks at Randy, who's watching the muted TV. It's a game of football. He's scowling.

Stan takes a seat next to his dad and grins at him.

"Hey, old man," Randy says. "Nice mustache."

"Hey, older man," Stan answers. "Yours is pretty cool, too."

Kyle's watching them, so he misses it when Sheila asks him something from where she's standing in the door way.

"What?"

"I said, we already ate, but I can heat up the leftovers for you two if you want. I'll let you eat on the couch if you wanna keep catching up."

"That'd be great. Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, bubby." Sheila lingers for a moment, wearing the smile of a proud mother, before she heads into the kitchen.

"So how's the FBI, Kyle?" Sharon asks, inquisitive.

"Continuously providing me a good paycheck in exchange for gruesome nightmares, Mrs. Donovan," Kyle answers. It feels weird to call her that.

"You're old enough to call me Sharon, hun."

"You see any dead bodies?" That's Randy, of course.

"Randy," Sharon chastises, and it makes Kyle smile.

"No, it's fine," he says dismissively. "Yeah, I've seen quite a few in my time. They look like the ones in movies, only worse, because you know that that decaying body is someone's father or daughter or sister, and they'll never see their family again."

Everyone goes quiet for a moment. Kyle had anticipated his response to result in an uncomfortable lull in the conversation, but he sort of felt he had to say what he did, if only for shock value's sake. Stan's the one who takes it upon himself to break the awkward silence. "So Kyle was telling me about all the cool stuff he's been up to in New York."

Kyle actually had barely mentioned his new home - he was far more interested in discussing the town he'd left behind and this case - but he has to hand it to Stan for successfully changing the subject.

"Least it's not much of a climate change, huh, Kyle?" Randy muses. "Just as cold out there as it is here. Which is fine when you're young, but once you get older, cold weather's a real bitch to your bones." 

"Randy," Sharon warns again. Considering they're divorced, they sure do act the same as they did when they were married. Kyle's finding it hard to believe she remarried, but he heard the toilet flush a moment or two ago, so he'll be seeing soon.

"What?" Randy says defensively. "They're grown men, I can cuss in front of them now!"

Stan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then mouths at Kyle, _Lame._

 _Totally,_ Kyle mouths back, grinning. But not that lame. Kind of nice, actually.

* * *

 Sharon wasn't joking about marrying Mr. Donovan. Kyle barely remembers him, but he recalls he was quiet and kind, which apparently hasn't changed in twenty or so years. He shakes hands, friendly but fumbling, and insists Kyle call him Roger. 

The rest of the night is uneventful. Sheila lets them eat on the couch like she promised, which is absolutely unheard of - she's clearly in a good mood. They eat ravenously; Kyle even has seconds, and Stan has thirds. Sheila happily obliges, seemingly very pleased they enjoy her cooking. When she brings Kyle his second plate of her home-cooked lasagna, she stops to place a hand on top of his head and just tenderly stroke his hair for a moment. It'd be weird, but Kyle's too busy eating to pay attention, and besides, he knows she's just doing it because she really missed him, so even if he wasn't too hungry to care, he wouldn't have the heart to ask her to stop.

At one point, a couple minutes after Stan's disappeared outside with his dad and a six-pack of PBR, Sheila's sat down beside Kyle, wearing the contented expression of a very proud parent. They're listening to some humorous story Clyde told Roger about an absurd disturbance he dealt with, and, not even five seconds after Roger's wrapped the story up, before any of them have even finished laughing, Gerald, who clearly wasn't listening, points at Kyle's ring. "So is that thing real yet?"

Six eyes turn to him. Kyle shakes off the uneasy feeling in his gut the always forms when he's stuck with a chatty group of people who expect him to contribute to the conversation, and forces a laughs. "Nope, still fake. Maybe one-"

Something hits him just then. Not physically, but considering how heavily it hits him, it might as well have.

Cartman must have seen the ring. Even if he didn't, he would've felt it when they held hands during that tender moment in the holding cell. So why didn't he question it? Why, despite being, according to Stan, faithful to Butters, and despite thinking Kyle was married, did he still suggest they should hook up once the case was over? Even though they were life partners, was Butters still disposable to Cartman? Was Kyle still the only one he wanted? And did he really think that Kyle would cheat on his nonexistent spouse with him? Was he that self-absorbed? Maybe he really hadn't changed.

"You okay, hun?" Sharon's asking, and Kyle snaps back to reality.

"You look like you just realized something life-changing," Gerald comments. "Was it something about the case?"

Sheila shoots him a look. "Gerald. Not the time or place."

"No, it's okay," Kyle says, waving a dismissive hand. "Yes, it was something about the case."

Just like that, the unspoken rule that the murders won't be discussed is vetoed, and the questions, and the comments, start pouring out. 

"So did he do it?"

"I can't believe I let that little psychopath play with my children. He could've put them in danger!"

"I'm not surprised Liane Cartman raised a monster. That kid had a traumatizing childhood, we should've seen the signs as they were happening."

"Was that Dougie kid really the latest victim?"

"I can't believe I babysat that little freak!"

"Was it freaky, seeing him and knowing you used to date someone who killed a bunch of people?"

"Enough!" Sheila shouts, and her commanding tone and presence, as usual, effectively shuts everyone else up. "My bubby just came home to me for the first time in over a decade, and I invited you all here to share this special moment with us. I didn't invite you so you could harass my son about his job! We will _not_ be discussing any of the murders tonight, and I don't want to hear the name Eric Cartman out of any of you. I just want to hear about how my son's doing, alright?" She sits back, arms crossed. "I will not have that sort of mashugana talk in my house. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kyle, Gerald, and Roger all say, and Sheila smiles.

"So tell me about your new apartment, bubula!" she says enthusiastically.

Now that he's no longer starving, Kyle's exhaustion is at the forefront of his mind, and his eyelids are actually drooping. He hasn't felt this tired since college. Still, he doesn't want to disappoint her, so he graciously talks about the place he's been renting for eight months. He'd only bothered to tell her about it two months back, but she doesn't need to know that.

* * *

By the time Sheila notices Kyle's about to fall asleep and tells him he should be heading home, it's around eleven o'clock. He goes to get Stan outside, who's been using his work gun to shoot beer cans off the wall for the last half hour. Randy's hands probably too shaky to shoot straight, considering his age, so he's taken up the role as the cheerleader.

When Kyle opens the door, he sees Stan throwing a can up in the air as high as he can. He shoots it expertly, which prompts a "Fuck yeah!" out of Randy.

"Time for bed, you fuckin' hillbillies," Kyle yells over their whooping.

They stop to look at him, wearing identical disappointed faces, like kids who've just been told they can't buy the toy that's caught their interest in Toyz-R-Us. Stan looks so much like his dad, it's uncanny, and sort of gross, considering Kyle had a tiny little misguided crush on Stan in middle school. Thank God Stan was straight and Kyle never acted on impulse, because he doesn't know how he'd deal with growing old with someone who gradually looked more and more like Randy Marsh.

Stan's absolutely wasted, and he pouts all the way through the goodbyes, through the walk outside, and through the drive home. Kyle's feeling rather drunk himself, if only out of exhaustion, but he'd refused the wine Sheila had offered him, so he's stuck driving again. He goes extra slow, though, just in case. He doesn't want to endanger anyone because he's too tired to keep his eyes open.

It takes a lot of prodding, but Stan points the way back to his house, which turns out to be the home once owned by Big Gay Al and Mr. Slave. It was always one of the nicer homes in South Park, so Kyle's not surprised someone like Wendy chose it to settle down in. 

"Wanna get your bags?" Stan asks, practically falls out of the passenger seat onto the sidewalk outside, only his question is incoherent, so Kyle has to ask him to repeat himself four times until he hears.

He pulls Stan up by his armpits, scowling at his PBR-scented breath. He'd completely forgotten about Stan's tendency towards alcoholism. He's mad at himself for being to caught up in his personal bullshit to monitor his friend. "Nah, don't worry about that, man. I'll wait 'till tomorrow. I just wanna sleep. It's been a long day."

Kyle gets the key from Stan, who's mumbling about how he's mad at himself for getting drunk off such cheap alcohol, and struggles to get his limb-bodied friend inside. 

There's someone sitting on the couch, curled up in the corner with a Nook or Kindle or something like that on their lap. The black hair, barely recognizable in the faint moonlight coming in through a window, tells Kyle it's Wendy, although he's so tired his vision is a little blurry. She looks up at they come in, and when she speaks, she doesn't sound too happy to see them. Her voice sounds the same as he remembers, though, which is a relief. "It's midnight, you assholes. The kids waited up for you for hours, and I had to wrestle to get them into bed after you didn't show."

"Sorry, babe. Shit happens, you know?" Stan passes by her and heads into the kitchen, attempting to kiss her on the forehead as he goes. It sounds sloppy and wet, and Wendy slaps at him with a disgusted noise that Kyle's too tired to try an describe.

Wendy purses her lips and turns to Kyle. Her unimpressed tone doesn't falter. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my all-time favorite person to debate things with. I'd be a lot friendlier, but I'm too mad and tired right now. Tell you what - I'll give you a hug and we can bitch about politics together tomorrow, okay?"

Kyle rubs at his eyes, far too tired to attempt formalities. "'Kay."

"I just wanted to make sure you two got home safe, but I'm gonna head up to bed now. Stan'll show you the guest room, if he's not too drunk to. Good night, Kyle."

"Good night," he says, watching her faint figure head upstairs.

He goes into the kitchen, where Stan's trying to get a beer open by banging it against the counter.

"Dude," Kyle chastises, going over and taking it from him, who flails weakly in response. "C'mon, you've had enough. We both need to get to bed."

Stan slouches after Kyle when he pulls him along.

"Where's your room? Upstairs?"

Stan sniffs, and Kyle prays he's not the emotional drunk he used to be. He doesn't need that right now. "Yeah, but I think Wendy's gonna want me on the couch."

"Where's my room, then?"

Stan points, then falls face-down down on the couch. Kyle frowns at him, before turning and heading into down the hallway Stan pointed down. One of the three doors is slightly ajar, and there's a light coming from the crack underneath. Kyle nudges it open further with his foot, and peers inside. Nicely made bed, nightstand, dresser - the works. Kyle collapses on the bed and lays flat for a moment, knowing he needs to move but not wanting to. He's surprised he didn't pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It takes a lot of willpower, but he's eventually able to stumble back into the living room, where's Stan's snoring, legs on the ground and upper body slumped on the couch. It looks extremely uncomfortable. He grumbles as Kyle pulls him up, but allows himself to be pulled into the guest room.

"Wendy's gonna call us gay again," Stan mumbles when Kyle pulls his shoes off of him. 

"Let her," Kyle replies, pulling the blanket up to Stan's chin. He kicks his own shoes away, shrugs his jacket off, undoes his tie, and gets his belt off before climbing into bed next to his friend. "I don't want you sleeping on the couch, and there's no way you'd make it up the stairs."

"Thanks, buddy," is the last thing Stan says before he's out.

Kyle smiles to himself as he settles in next to his friend, reminded of awkward sleepovers during their teenage years. He remembers sharing a bed with Stan in eight grade and trying his hardest not to pop a boner when he made soft little sleepy noises. He remembers lying rigidly beside him in sixth grade, listening and occasionally commenting as Stan ranted about girls and teachers and video games. He remembers hoping Stan couldn't hear his heartbeat or feel his radiating heat the way he could feel Stan's. He remembers staying shock-still and praying they wouldn't accidentally touch, praying Stan wouldn't find out the secrets Kyle should've but didn't share with him.

Most of all he's reminded of a lost friendship, which would depress him if he wasn't on the brink of unconsciousness. Thankfully, that train of thought doesn't go far, because he's asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I literally timed and read aloud Kyle and Stan's first conversation in the car, featuring the silences where silences were due, and the pauses that normal people make when speaking, just to make sure it was really eight minutes long. Not sure why, but I did that. It came out to 7:54, or at least it did pre-editing. Where's my pulitzer prize.
> 
> Also notice how Kyle's exhausted by the end of the chapter and practically incoherent? Yeah, I worked on this chapter for hours today and finally managed to finish it by 10pm, and I'm about as tired as Kyle is. I'll have to read over the last three hundred words tomorrow, make sure it's not terrible, since I wasn't in my right mind while writing and editing that bit. But I did finish it on Saturday! I didn't miss my deadline! Ha! Hope you enjoyed. The next one will be up faster, I swear.


	5. Stuck in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Eric Cartman and Leopold Stotch were both with the second to last victim, Nick Corwin, when he was last seen - and so were two other former classmates of the suspect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. A lot happened that prevented me from working on this chapter - I got grounded, then I got hugely depressed and unmotivated, then Chester from Linkin Park passed away and I got even more depressed and unmotivated, then my Oma got sick and passed away, and the depression and unmotivation got even worse, and on top of all that, I'm moving. But I finished it, and here it is. It was fun, once I got into it; though it's pretty dialogue-heavy, and feels a bit like a filler chapter. But I threw in a lot of fun shit that I hope you all enjoy. I'm gonna spend the upcoming drive to where I'm moving working on this, so the next chapter should be up soonish? Yeah.
> 
> Hey, just a note, I fucking love your comments, so be sure to leave them; reading them makes my day! I'd really love to hear who your guesses on the unsub were prior to this chapter! You can comment them or if you wanna keep them private, hit me up on Tumblr! @jewpacabruhs. Also, if you notice any continuity issues, please tell me! I've reread my previous chapters frequently, to keep stuff consistent, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job, but I'm not keeping a cohesive list of every detail I reveal about the murders/the profile, so if anything's off, tell me so I can fix it! Thanks.
> 
> Finally, warning: Cartman calls someone else the homophobic f-word in this a few times, although he doesn't mean it with, like, homophobic intent. He's just an ass. Plus, like, he's gay, so I guess he can reclaim it? Anyway. Also, recreational marijuana is smoked in this chapter by two, uh, consenting adults. I don't condone drug use, yada yada yada. One of those characters is always portrayed as smoking cigarettes in fics, so I wanted to change it up a little, and the other honestly could benefit from a little indica every now and then, tbfh. Oh, shit, I gave away who's in this chapter just then, huh. Eh. Enjoy. Beware the weeds.

Kyle wakes up to someone jumping on him. He lifts his head, blinking rapidly. Through his blurry vision, he sees two bouncy forms.

"Uncle Kyle!" they're yelling, and Kyle sits up once his eyes focus.

Stan's next to him, on his side, groaning. "Get off, you guys - Daddy's 'bout to puke."

"Ew!" the kids shriek, jumping off the bed. There's another one, the oldest, who standing at the foot of the bed, looking wary. 

Kyle sees that Wendy's standing in the doorway, wearing a smug little smile. "Let Mommy talk, please," she says over the kid's chatter, and they instantly quiet. She looks at Kyle. "Stan talks about you all the time. He calls you Uncle Kyle. The kids couldn't wait to meet you. I wanted them to wait until you got up, but they were too excited."

"We made you breakfast!" the younger boy chirps, grabbing a plate off the nightstand and holding it out to Kyle. It's bacon and eggs with a side of toast; Kyle takes it, grateful.

"Mom did, actually," the oldest corrects him, quietly. Kyle feels bad that he can't remember their names.

"You're not eating kosher or anything, right?" Wendy asks. "I can just get you a yogurt or something, if you want."

"No, I'm not. But yogurt's not kosher, so you know." He grins at her as he picks up a piece of bacon. "Thanks, though."

"Gotta barf," Stan says suddenly, rolling out of bed and stumbling out of the room. The younger two kids yell, "Ew!" and Wendy gets a disgusted look on her face and sidesteps him as he goes. A moment later, Kyle hears faint retching. He frowns and tries not to lose his appetite.

"Why's Daddy sick?" the little girl asks her mom, from where she's sat on the bed near Kyle's knee. 

"Because Daddy drank something that was bad for him," Wendy tells her.

"Oh." She turns to look at Kyle, who realizes that they're all staring at him.

He raises an eyebrow at them. "What?"

"Your hair kinda looks like Ariel's," the younger boy blurts.

The little girl - April Louise, Kyle remembers suddenly - shakes her head. She speaks in the high pitched and stammering tone of an almost-four year old, but Kyle can still hear, clear as day, that she's Wendy's kid. She has a pointed tone, like everything she says is very important to her. Not even four and she already sounds like she can argue until the end of time. "Uh uh," she says, "it's - it's more like, like Merida's, 'cause - 'cause it's all curly and stuff." She sits up on her knees and leans over, patting him on the head, feeling his hair. "Woah," she says.

"Louise, hon, don't do that," Wendy says, still in the doorway. She's in a mint green jumpsuit, and her hair's tied back. Sporty. She looks like she's about to go on a run, but her face is a little shiny, so maybe she just came back. Or that's makeup. Kyle can't tell the difference anymore.

"It's fine," he tells her, smiling. Usually he'd get annoyed if someone went to touch his hair, but Stan's kids get a pass because they're cute. He kind of wishes he had some. "Hey," he says gently, "your dad told me your names, but I've been pretty busy, so I forgot. Could you maybe tell me them again?"

"I'm Louey," Lousie says, pointing at herself with her thumb and smiling a toothless grin. She's in overalls and a red baseball cap, and she looks like she belongs on the set of Little Rascals.

"Mikey," the older one says quietly. He's in a baseball jersey, and he's got freckles, even though neither Wendy or Stan ever did. He's standing awkwardly beside the bed, looking dejected. Kyle shoots him a smile, but he averts his eyes. They're dark brown, unlike the other two; the boy inherited Stan's blue, and Louey's are a light brown that's almost hazel.

"My name's Marcus," the last one says, perking up when Kyle looks at him, "and my dad told me you're really good at chess."

Kyle smiles. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty good at it."

"I bet I'm better."

"Watch your tone, hon," Wendy says, rather boredly, still standing in the doorway. She looks at Kyle. "I'm gonna check on Stan. Kids, be good."

"We will!" Louise and Marcus say simultaneously. Mikey just ducks his head.

Wendy purses her lips, nods at Kyle, and leaves.

Kyle grins at Marcus, who looks smug. He's got Wendy's unshakable confidence, too, but he has Stan's lop-sided smile. It's weird, really, how much he sees his childhood friends in their offspring. "We'll just have to have ourselves a match, then."

Marcus crosses his arms over his chest and grins. "I think so, too."

Kyle looks at Mikey next. "How about you? What'd your dad tell you about me? We had a lot of crazy adventures, back when we were your age." He feels old saying it, but it's true. As wild as his adult adventures as an FBI agent are, they've got nothing on the shit he and his friends did as a kid. He's getting a little emotional thinking about it.

Mikey lifts his head, but barely. "Did you really date Eric Cartman?"

Marcus and Louise both suddenly look a little uncomfortable. Kyle frowns. "Yeah, back in high school. Why?"

Mikey swallows hard and shoves his hands into his pockets. "My best friend's big brother is dead."

Kyle looks down, feeling a little inexplicably ashamed. He remembers Kenny saying something about the unsub killing two South Park locals, one being Dougie. The kid Mikey's talking about must've been the other. Kyle licks his lips, anxious. "Listen, Mikey. I know it's hard, and I'm so sorry for your friend and his family's loss, but we're about to catch this guy, so he won't hurt anyone else. Okay?"

"This guy? You mean Eric?" Marcus asks, and his confident grin is gone, replaced by a worried frown. "He came over a couple of times to hang out with Dad. He seemed nice, I guess, but he was really loud." Marcus frowns. "He always drank all our soda."

Kyle smiles, despite himself. Sounds about right. He frowns again when Marcus continues, "I can't believe he killed Hunter. I thought that sort of stuff only happened in books and movies and stuff."

Kyle shakes his head. "Cart- uh, Eric didn't kill anyone, so don't worry about that."

"He didn't? But we heard Mom and Dad talking-"

"What'd you hear?"

They all jump a little, surprised by Wendy reappearing in the doorway. She's holding Kyle's suitcase, and she's glaring at him suspiciously. He withers under her gaze. She's always scared him. She's nice enough, she's just a little too intense. Kyle has a hard time with intense people; they intimidate him, far more than any other person could. That's probably because of his mom, if he thinks about it. Granted, Cartman's intense, too, but in a different way. Cartman's just sort of threatening, always has been, because he's hulking and he's got that devious glint in his eye. Wendy, however, has piercing, knowing eyes that never fail to make Kyle squirm uncomfortably, like she's reading his mind and hearing his darkest secrets every time she looks at him.

The boys are obviously also affected by this, since they're hanging their heads to avoid eye contact, but Lousie seems immune. She cheerfully says, "About - about - um, about Daddy's friend Eric killing Hunter."

Wendy's brows draw together, angrily, and she glares at Marcus and Mikey. "I told you two not to bring that up. Especially in front of Louise."

"He brought it up!" Marcus says, pointing to Mikey, who looks up briefly, then hangs his head again in shame.

Wendy looks at him, and her expression softens a bit. She sets Kyle's suitcase down, and goes over to put an arm around him. Mikey doesn't move. Wendy looks at him for a second, then turns her attention to Kyle. "I'd like to talk to you by myself later, if that's okay."

Kyle nods. "Yeah, of course. Can I, uh, take a shower first?"

"Stan just hopped in, but you can use the one in the master bathroom upstairs." She grins slightly. "Just don't go through our drawers or anything. If you wanna be able to look us in the eyes."

Kyle laughs. "Okay, yeah, thank you, Wendy."

"Let's go, kids. Let Kyle get himself showered and dressed, okay?"

"Okay!" the two younger ones yell, and they bolt out of the room, with a moody Mikey following. Wendy puts a hand on his back as he goes by and follows him out. She glances back at Kyle with a quirked brow, before shutting the door behind her.

Kyle shakes his head and takes another bite of bacon. Somehow he felt more worried about the kids and their questions than Stan or Wendy and theirs. Kids lack a filter and don't know when they're overstepping boundaries, and they can't make inferences; everything has to be spelled out for them. It makes discussing serious issues so much harder.

He finishes his plate and gets up, setting it on the bed while he kneels down to dig around in his suitcase for today's outfit. He slept in his suit, minus the jacket, and it still smells clean enough, but it's all wrinkled, so he figures he should change. He picks out an identical suit, creased nicely from being folded. He matches it with a silky purple tie, in contrast to the plain navy blue one he wore yesterday.

He gets all his shower necessities from his bag - namely, his curl-enhancing shampoo, because his hair will look stupid if he doesn't use it - then grabs the plate off the bed and leaves the room.

By the distant sound of screams, the kids are playing in the backyard. It is summer, after all. Kyle's impressed kids still even play outside in this day and age. He tells Wendy this as he puts his plate in the sink.

She's seated at their table, eating what looks like granola and yogurt, and reading something on her phone. She looks up and grins at him, almost proudly, like he complimented her parenting. "Yeah, well, we grew up playing outside. I thought my kids should, too." She nods at Kyle's armful. "Nice tie."

"Thanks. Where's Stan?"

"Still showering. And yeah, I just checked on him; he's fine in there, he's just sluggish."

Kyle nods. "Alright. Do, uh. You wanna talk to me now? Since we're alone? I smell bad, but I know alone time is hard to come by when you've got kids."

Wendy shrugs. "Sure. Take a seat."

Feeling a bit like a scolded child, even though he has no reason to, Kyle awkwardly sits, still holding all his stuff. The table looks clean enough, but he doesn't trust a table that kids eat on, so he doesn't set anything down on it.

Wendy's never been one for small talk. She looks at him for a long moment, silently assessing him and successfully making him squirm once more, then says, "Did Cartman do it?"

Kyle looks down at the table. There's marker stains all over it. He eyes a blue swirl that looks deliberate, rather then the result of going off the page. He wonders which kid did that. "That's confidential, Wendy. You know that."

"Oh, come on. I won't gossip. I just want to know if the guy I played with as a child, the guy I _kissed_ , and the guy I let be around my children, is the same guy who disemboweled Hunter Stoley."

"I'm sorry, I just - wait. Disemboweled?"

Wendy nods, frowning. "Kevin and Red's son. Remember them? His body turned up two years back, by Stark's Pond. He was seventeen. Their younger son, Jeremy? Him and Mikey are best friends. They found the body." Her jaw clenches. "Mikey's in therapy now. He hasn't been the same since. He's traumatized. If Eric's responsible for giving my baby nightmare's every night, I'll kill him myself."

Kyle's still stuck on disemboweled. That wasn't in the files. That isn't the MO either. None of the other victims were disemboweled. That sounds like overkill. That sounds like anger.

"Kevin and Red aren't Jewish," Kyle frowns. He's also vaguely wondering how they had a seventeen year old, when they were in their early thirties, and they hadn't even been together in high school, but he figures they could've adopted. In fact, he faintly remembers that Red's older sister had gotten pregnant, so maybe they'd adopted that child. Regardless of who's kid it was, Hunter definitely wasn't Jewish.

Wendy shakes her head, brows pushed together. She's trying to understand what he's saying. "No. Your family were the only Jews in South Park."

All the other victims were a very specific type; redheaded Jewish young men from Denver or the surrounding cities. What was the significance of both the first victim and the most recent victim not being Jewish, and being from South Park?

Wendy sits up straight suddenly, her own realization snapping Kyle out of his attempt at one. "Weren't all the other victims Jewish?"

Shit. He can't lie. Kyle nods. "Yeah. By birth. Except Hunter and Dougie. Although Dougie supposedly converted."

She tilts her head to the side, thoughtfully. "First and last victim."

She's too smart. Kyle smiles a little. They may have not gotten along at times, because of their argumentative personalities, or because neither wanted to share Stan with the other, but he's always admired her. 

"I wonder if that's significant," she adds.

Kyle considers it. What could Hunter Stoley have done to piss off the real unsub? He was only seventeen, he couldn't have been much of a threat.

He looks at Wendy. "Was Hunter gay?"

Wendy nods. "Yeah, he came out when he was thirteen, but we all kind of knew. Everyone was supportive - maybe a little too supportive. It was like Tweek and Craig all over again, but without the Asian girls drawing creepy art, thankfully."

"Did he have a boyfriend or anything? At the time of his death?"

"I don't know. I didn't know him well, I just know what Red would tell me. Gossip, the like. Shouldn't all this be in your file?"

"I haven't had time to read through every detail in every file. There's, like, twenty related to this case."

"Well, maybe you should. Before more people die."

She gives him a harsh look, and Kyle feels anger rising. He hasn't gotten legitimately mad at anyone in quite a while. Leave it to Wendy to effectively provoke him. Admiration aside, she's still a pain in the ass. 

He stands up suddenly. "Gonna take that shower now."

"Alright." She stares him down, and Kyle tries not to let himself be intimidated. He's a fed, for fuck's sake. She's an engineer. It's kinda funny, really. If he's uncomfortable under her glare, he can't imagine how her co-workers feel. Or, damn, how her kids feel. He'd hate to be the one who through a baseball through her window.

As he starts to head upstairs, he's stopped by Wendy saying, "Did you see him?"

He turns, at the base of the stairs. "Who?"

Her lips press together. "You know who."

"Cartman?" She nods. "Yeah, I interrogated him myself."

"Do you still care for him?"

Kyle studies her face. She's no longer tense or irate; she looks sympathetic and concerned. Motherly. He sighs. "Of course I do. We were in love. It's hard to forget feelings like that, regardless of the situation."

She smiles slightly. "You changed him, you know. You calmed him down. Helped him. He was so much better when he was with you."

Kyle looks at the ground. "Yeah, he's not bad when he has someone to smack him around. Figuratively, I mean. Gotta knock him down a peg sometimes. He just needs to be, uh. Monitored closely. He's like a kid that way."

Wendy looks like she's onto something, so Kyle stands around and waits for her to speak. His arms are starting to hurt; the shampoo's kinda heavy.

"He didn't do it," Wendy says suddenly, and by her tone and the look on her face, she's sure of it. "He's done a lot, but this wasn't him."

"No," Kyle says. "It wasn't."

She looks up, surprised he disclosed that information, but he's already hurrying upstairs.

All the doors are wide open, so it doesn't take long to find the master bedroom. Kyle doesn't purposefully snoop, but he does take a moment to look around. Like the rest of the house, there's family pictures everywhere, including one of what looks like some kind of big get-together. He goes to inspect that one; it looks like most of the whole town gathered for the picture. It appears to be around three years old; Kyle quickly locates the Marsh family, and Louey's in Stan's arms, bundled up in a pink blanket. She looks pretty little. He recognizes quite a few of the people in the pictures, but several are unfamiliar. So much had changed.

He finds Kevin and Red Stoley, and looks at the tall handsome redhaired teenager that Red has an arm around the waist of. Hunter. The first victim. He's smiling brightly.

Poor kid.

Kyle looks at the picture for a moment more, before deciding he should probably actually hop in the shower.

He doesn't take long - maybe ten minutes to get himself all clean. But he stands under the water for a good five more, eyes closed; focusing only on the feeling of the water hitting his scalp and back, and refusing to let himself think of anything else.

Finally, he opens his eyes. He looks at his half-hard dick for a moment, contemplating whether he should jerk off or not. Unless he's in a hurry, he whacks one out every time he showers, mostly out of habit and as a stress reliever than out of actual desire. He doesn't really have much of a sex drive anymore.

Often during cases, he can't get it up at all because he's too disgusted by the crimes he's around on a daily basis. This case is different, undoubtedly because he used to fuck the suspect.

He thinks of Cartman's offer - his promise of fucking Kyle's brains out once the real killer's been caught. He wonders what the implications of that are. Did Cartman intend to leave Butters once all this had blown over? Their house was suspiciously barren; maybe they were separating, and were moving into their own homes prior to these allegations? Or was that just how their house looked, and Cartman was just fine with cheating? Maybe they even had an open relationship?

 _Maybe they're swingers_ , Kyle thinks, and he snorts. He wouldn't put it passed Cartman to convince Butters to let him sleep around. Butters would probably agree to it, too, the damn pushover.

He wonders how much of Cartman's apparent sexual depravity was bullshit. The shit about sleeping with all the gay guys in town - Kyle considered Cartman attractive, but he knew weight and a shitty personality were a turn off for a lot of people, so surely he hadn't been able to successfully seduce all the men he'd claimed to. Aside from that, Stan said he'd been faithful to Butters. If he really was sleeping around, shouldn't there be more gossip about it? It had to be bullshit. Cartman was just spouting lies to confuse him. Manipulation. The same shit he pulled that lead to their breakup.

So, Kyle summarized, some of the stuff he'd insisted he'd done was bullshit, said simply to disarm and disgust them. Like it was all a game of wits to him. Yet some of his claims were true, especially the ones he'd made about his and Kyle's sex life. Kyle's still a little mad about him bringing those things up. But maybe there was a clue in it.

He thinks back to the sex that had lead to their iconic joint-arrest. They'd both been a little drunk off Liane's booze - apparently Kyle was a lot more shitfaced then he'd thought, and a lot more wasted than Cartman, because he hardly remembered that night, yet Cartman claimed to remember it in detail, or at least enough to be able to use it as masturbation fodder. Then again, Cartman always had a remarkably good memory, regardless of his alcohol intake; granted, that good memory was a very selective memory.

Kyle remembers they'd gone for a late night walk, goofing around and talking about any and everything. Cartman had a walking stick he'd found on the ground, and he kept smacking Kyle on the ass with it. Then he'd slammed it hard enough against a tree that it snapped, and he'd held the broken off remainder in his hand and said, "Woah." Kyle clearly remembers giggling at that for some reason. He also clearly remembers Cartman smiling genuinely at him, delighted at having made Kyle laugh so earnestly.

They somehow ended up at the lake. Cartman kept trying to go in the water, even though it was autumn and the water was not yet frozen over, but extremely cold nonetheless. He'd taken his shoes and socks off, and he kept saying, "Dare me to jump in?", but then he'd shriek every time he put a toe in, and Kyle was laughing hysterically at him.

Then Cartman had looked at him, extremely serious, and said, "What say you and me take our dicks out, right here and now?"

Kyle had responded, cheerfully, "What say you fuck off?"

"That doesn't make sense," Cartman told him, and then he'd kissed him, and then his hand was on Kyle's dick, and then the cops were there. That's all Kyle remembers.

Kyle scowls and turns the water off.

* * *

"Do you wear a suit every day?" Marcus asks from the kitchen table once Kyle walks downstairs, raising an eyebrow at him. He's eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and swinging his legs happily.

The other two kids are now sat on the couches. Louey is watching some kid's show, and Mikey's on his phone, earbuds in. He doesn't look up at Kyle.

Kyle glances around, trying to find Wendy or Stan. They're both nowhere in sight. He peeks into the kitchen.

"Mom's out jogging, Dad's still in the bathroom," Marcus tells him, and Kyle nods ( _So it_ was _makeup,_ he thinks) and takes a seat on the couch, next to Louey. She smiles at him, adorably gap-toothed. 

"Here I am," Stan says from behind Kyle, and Kyle turns around. He's standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking fresh and clean. His mustache is gone, thankfully.

"You shaved that thing off your face!" Kyle exclaims.

"Wendy told me she wouldn't make me this really good hangover cure drink unless I shaved," Stan says, pouting as he comes to sit on the other side of Louey, who quickly climbs into his lap. "So I did." He looks Kyle up and down and grins. "You're looking very snazzy."

"I asked him if he wore a suit every day," Marcus tells his dad, "but he didn't answer me."

"Well? Answer my kid's question." Stan quirks an eyebrow at Kyle.

"Sorry, got distracted," Kyle says, honestly. He looks at Marcus. "Yes, I wear a suit everyday. It's just my preference. Some cops come to work dressed like your dad."

This makes all the kids laugh, even Mikey, because Stan's in bunny slippers, pajamas with cutely hand-drawn sharks on them, and a dumb graphic t-shirt with some cartoon character Kyle doesn't recognize.

"Really?" Louise asks, cutely giggling. Stan tickles her sides, and she laughs harder, squirming in his lap.

"Uh huh," Kyle says, and it's not a lie; he knows a couple of agents who've never heard of formal attire in their life. They're good cops, definitely, but they can't claim to being well dressed cops.

"Wow," Mikey says, and Kyle's surprised to hear him speak. He's actually smiling a little. Unfortunately, the second Kyle looks at him, his smile fades and he looks back down at his phone.

Kyle looks at Stan, who gives a shrug. _Teenager_ , he mouths. Kyle thinks that's bullshit, since Mikey's a traumatized twelve-year-old with every right to be quiet and untrusting, but he says nothing.

Vaguely, he thinks to himself that maybe all parents are just oblivious. As if the moment you have a child, you lose the ability to remember what it's like to _be_ a kid. He doesn't know if there's any other possible reason parents are such idiots. Really, Stan should be a lot more sympathetic, considering all the crazy shit from their childhoods that happened to them - shit that made Stan a functioning alcoholic and Cartman mentally unstable enough to be a viable murder suspect. Kyle went through a lot, too, but he likes to think he's the least affected of their friend group. He still has nightmares, sometimes, of Chef's demise, and Britney Spears blowing her head off - gorey shit like that that no ten-year-old should ever witness.

Often, for no apparent reason, he dreams of Kenny being violently killed, in vivid and oddly specific ways. He's not sure why. He's been meaning to see a therapist about it.

The Marsh family's gone quiet, so Kyle follows Stan's example and silently watches whatever's on. It's dancing puppets. He's not impressed.

"So what's the plan for today?" he asks Stan, after growing bored. He's always wondered if parents eventually grow to enjoy the kids shows they have to watch, or if it's just annoying.

Stan seems to enjoy this shit. When he speaks, he doesn't look away from the TV. "Got a voicemail from your superior. She wants to fly you back to New York, since you're no longer pertinent to the investigation. So we're back at square one. We thought you were the missing piece, but you're not."

Stan doesn't mean any harm, but the way he words that makes Kyle feel like shit. He leans into him and whispers, "What about the DNA?"

Stan looks at him, then frowns. He gently pushes Louey off his lap. "Hon, get off for a second. I need to talk to Kyle alone for a minute. Be good, you guys."

Kyle follows when Stan leads him outside, and closes the sliding glass door behind himself. It's nice and warm out, so Kyle takes a seat in one of the lawn chairs and looks at Stan expectantly.

Stan sits opposite of him. "They found his DNA on one of the more recent bodies, but there's not a trace of DNA on any of the others. If anything, it just contributes to the idea that someone's attempting to frame him. Last minute, too."

"You told Cartman it was on all of them."

"I lied. I was trying to freak him out."

Kyle purses his lips. "Wow, thanks for telling me." He heaves a breath. "Well? What was it? Fingerprints? Blood?"

"Semen," Stan says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fuckin' semen."

Kyle pulls a face, but tries to be logical. "Okay, how the hell would someone get his jizz? It'd have to be one of his sexual partners, but he'd tell us if he ever saw someone bottling his jizz, right? That's odd enough to stand out, he'd remembered and he'd tell us. He's smart, he'd know that would get him off the hook. It'd need to be someone who-" Kyle freezes. "Oh my God."

"What?"

Kyle's heart is pounding. Fuck, it makes total sense. "Stan - do you think there's any chance Butters is our unsub?"

Stan snorts. "Butters? Yeah, right. He couldn't murder people. He's harmless."

"I dunno, dude, Butters is pretty fucked up. And he's Cartman's boyfriend of fifteen years, he knows him better than anyone. If anyone could almost-successfully frame him, it'd be him. And if anyone would have something against Cartman so severe that it would drive them to kill, it'd be him. And if anyone would have access to his spooge, it'd be him."

Stan shakes his head. "No way, dude. It's probably, like, Scott Tenorman trying to get back at him for ruining his life, or something. Hell, maybe it's fucking Patty Nelson. We don't know. We don't know what Cartman gets up to. Hell, maybe he's a sperm donor or something, and that's how they got a hold of it. But I'll tell you right now; it's not Butters."

Kyle frowns. Butters had acted like a regular Buffalo Bill, falsely hospitable and entirely rigid, but he's got no real evidence. He rubs at his temples. "Sorry, I'm just trying to help before I leave. I feel bad that I haven't really contributed anything. When's my flight?"

"Three. It's nine right now. I figured you could hang out with Wendy and the kids for a while, then we can swing by the station and check on things. Then I'll drive you to the airport. Oh, yeah, we can stop by to say bye to your 'rents, too."

"No need," Kyle shrugs. "They'll understand." In reality, he simply doesn't want to bother with goodbye. Goodbyes are awkward and annoying. He'll probably see them for Yom Kippur soon, anyway.

"Okay," Stan says simply, and he turns to head back into the house.

"Hey," Kyle says quickly, and Stan stops and turns to look at him. "Did, uh. Cartman get released yet?"

Stan shakes his head. "In an hour, I think."

Kyle hesitates. He impulsively wants to go say goodbye, but he knows that's a terrible idea. He glances up; Stan's watching him carefully. He gives him a nod. "Alright."

"You wanna go see him again, don't you?"

Kyle purses his lips. Stan's dense, but he's observant when he wants to be. Like now. Unfortunately. "I do. But I won't."

He starts to head in, but Stan stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Kyle turns to look at him, meeting concerned blue eyes, and he huffs. Stan's far too emotionally-driven, and he makes every little thing out to be dramatic and huge. It always kind of ticked Kyle off a bit.

"You still love him, huh?" Stan asks, tenderly.

Kyle shrugs dismissively. He doesn't want to get into this. "You're assuming that I ever did."

"I know you did. I saw how you looked at him." Stan squints at him, then looks away. "I didn't get it, and honestly, I still don't. You two hated each other, and then one day you were like something out of a fairy tale. Picturesque. Grossly cute. It didn't fucking make sense. And it pissed me off, 'cause I didn't get it. I didn't get _you_. I hated that someone got between me and my best friend, and more than that, I hated that it was fucking _Cartman_.

"But, then, I remember this one specific moment. We were eating lunch, and Jimmy was telling one of his lame jokes, and Cartman started laughing. And I looked at you, and you just. You were just looking at him in this fucking _way_ , and for the first time, I didn't think it was weird or gross or annoying or crazy, I just. I kinda saw the beauty in it. In, you know, young love, or whatever. In my best friend finally _falling_ in love. It was sorta like watching Brokeback Mountain. The whole time you're not invested because you're sorta too embarrassed to be, but by the ending you're sobbing, because it's so fucking beautiful. Love is beautiful, you know? And I saw that, on that day at school, in that cafeteria. I saw that in the way you looked at him."

Stan hangs his head, like he's embarrassed. Kyle blinks a few times. He doesn't know what to think. "Damn, dude."

Stan studies his socks. Then he says, "Let's go to the station."

* * *

It's the last time he'll see the kids, or Wendy, so they gather at the front door as him and Stan go to leave.

"Are you going bye-bye?" Louey asks, sounding heartbroken.

"He has to go do cop stuff," Marcus tells her.

"Cop stuff?"

"Yeah."

Kyle exchanged a glance with Stan. Then he kneels down in front of Louey and looks into her big brown eyes. "Listen, sweetie. There's a real bad guy your daddy and I need to find. As much as I'd love to hang out with you, we have jobs to do."

"Are you gonna shoot the guy?" Marcus asks, excited.

Kyle stands, wincing at the way his knees crack. He's only thirty, for fuck's sake.

He gives Marcus a tight-lipped smile. "We try not to shoot anybody if we can help it."

"Kyle," Mikey says, and Kyle looks at him, surprised he's even addressing him. Mikey won't make eye contact, but he firmly says, "You're gonna catch whoever killed Hunter."

"Yes," Kyle says. "He'll be behind bars in the next few days. I promise."

Mikey finally looks up at him. He's got dark, dark brown eyes, darker than Wendy's, but with the same intensity. Kyle's not intimidated, though; he's transfixed. The kid's got spirit. "Thank you," he says.

Kyle smiles. Mikey looks away, and Kyle glances at Stan and Wendy, who look mildly impressed.

"Alright," Stan says, clasping his hands together. "Time to go."

"Bye, daddy!" Louey yells, jumping up and down. "Bye, Uncle Kyle!"

"Bye, sweetie," Kyle tells her. He ruffles Marcus' hair, then turns to go. 

"Kyle," Wendy says.

Kyle turns to look at her.

She offers him a small smile. "Stay safe, alright? And don't steal my husband for too long."

Kyle smiles back. "I won't."

He waves one last time and gets into the passenger seat of the car, hoping Stan's okay to drive and won't get them killed. 

* * *

He seems to be. On the short drive to the station, Stan tells a story about last Easter. Particularly, he tells a story about an argument between Wendy and Randy.

"Yeah, Dad started bitching about how white people are oppressed, too."

Kyle laughed. "Sounds about right. Lemme guess, Wendy went apeshit?"

"Actually, she stayed pretty calm. Even when Dad was yelling. But then he called her a libtard, and she got offended, not because he insulted her, but because of the use of the r-word, you know?"

"I thought your dad was liberal?"

"No, see, the thing about Dad is that he's not _anything_ , at least by his own choice. He's whatever's popular. When being conservative was popular, that's what he was, and then he switched to a PC lifestyle - you remember that whole fiasco, don't you?"

Kyle nods. He does. Vividly. That was a fucking mess.

"Yeah, and he still is, to some degree, but now he's all old and grumpy and hates evolving society, because he can't even begin to understand it. And he loves picking fights with people, especially Wendy, because it's some entertainment in his boring and pathetic life." He laughs, a little bitterly. "My dad turned into my grandpa, and I turned into my dad. Vicious cycle, huh? I feel bad for Marcus."

"Why Marcus? He's already the one who's most like you?"

Stan shrugs. "Yeah, I'd say so. I mean, Mikey's the one who's prone to my depressive episodes, but when I look at Marcus, I see myself, you know?"

Kyle wonders if he'd like to have a mini version of himself. He decides that's definitely a thought for another day. Being around his friend's kids has him in a parental mood, that's all.

Stan seems to read his mind. "You ever gonna have kids?"

Kyle shrugs. "Doubt it."

"Yeah, kinda hard for FBI agents to start families." Stan purses his lips. "Probably why I never bothered going for anything higher than detective. I wanna have time for my kids, you know?"

"Not only that, it's fucking dangerous, you know? I don't wanna have a family that could be put in jeopardy, and I wouldn't wanna leave my kids father-less if I got killed in duty. It's just a bad idea all around." He pauses, then laughs. "Is that what you are? A detective? I was confused, everyone's called you everything."

"Yeah, detective, officer, whatever. I'm a cop." Stan shrugs. "Not much respect for those anymore, especially in a small town like this, so it's not like it matters."

Kyle doesn't respond.

"How about a spouse, though?" Stan asks then, resuming their conversation. "You ever gonna tie the knot?"

Kyle shrugs. "Cartman was the only serious relationship I've ever been in. I haven't dated since then, and I'm not big on one night stands. Relationships just aren't important than me."

"Oh my God, have you not gotten laid since _high school_? That's why you're such a bitch!"

Kyle lets out a scandalous gasp. "Stan Marsh, are you calling  _me_ a bitch?"

"I am," Stan says solemnly. "No, really, you haven't been with anyone since Cartman? That's why you're turned off sex, jeez."

"Of course not, I fucked around in college as much as the next guy." Kyle waves a hand. "Girls and guys. But after that, I dunno, just lost interest. This kinda work doesn't leave much room for relationships, you know?"

"Wait, do you jack off?"

"Stan!"

Stan laughs. "Hey, c'mon, it's just guy talk! You have to _sometimes_ , right? Even if it's with, like," his voice lowers, "a dildo or something."

Kyle gawks, then chuckles, awkwardly. "I don't own any sex toys, dude."

Stan almost looks disappointed. "Of course you don't. Jeez, you're boring."

"Hey!"

Stan laughs, and Kyle laughs, and for a moment, it's almost like they're not together just to figure out who's been murdering people and accusing their childhood friend of doing it. It's nice. Kyle misses having casual friends that he could just goof around with. Maybe when this blows over, Stan can fly out to New York and they can hang out.

Kyle's about to suggest this, when Stan suddenly points out the window. "Dude, dude, there's Bebe!"

Kyle looks, spotting the blonde walking down the street, looking very pregnant. He'd forgotten that she was expecting. Stan slows and rolls his window down. "Hey! Bebe!"

She looks over and smiles brightly. She's always been pretty, but now she's got that pregnant glow. She looks stunning. "Hey, Stan!" she says cheerily. She squints. "Who's that with you?"

"Kyle! Remember him?" There's a car behind them, so Stan pulls over. Bebe leans in, arms on the window. 

"I remember his sweet ass," she laughs, making eye contact. Kyle flushes. "What brings you back to town, Kyle?"

"He's a fed," Stan tells her.

"Oh, shit, the murders," Bebe realizes. "I actually just saw Cartman, he seemed pretty pissed. Looked a little homeless, too."

"He's been in custody. You didn't know?"

"Oh, no, Clyde told me, I just have never seen him look that messy before. I think Butters usually keeps him cleaned up pretty nice."

"You see him often?" Now Kyle speaks, perking up. 

Bebe makes a face. "Yeah, unfortunately. He's still a real ass. Always comes to buy shoes at our shop, 'cause it's cheaper than Denver, I think,. He's cheap as hell. Rude, too. Hey, but Clyde said he's innocent?"

Kyle had underestimated how fast "confidential" information spreads in a small town. "Yeah, we've mostly concluded someone's framing him."

"He has an alibi?"

"Well, no, but the data's inconclusive." 

Bebe tilts her head. "How? If that's okay to ask."

Stan glances helplessly at Kyle. He shakes his head.

"It's okay if it's not," Bebe says. 

Kyle shrugs. Who cares? Everyone knows already. He can just be vague. "Some stuff just doesn't line up."

Bebe seems to realize she's not going to get any more out of him. She leans further into the car, as much as her belly will allow her, and looks him over. "You look good, Kyle."

"You do, too," he replies. She'd asked him out twice in middle school, and he'd politely declined her the first time, and allowed one date the second. She'd tried to kiss him, and he'd panicked and left. Sometimes he wonders how different things would be if he'd dated her in high school, instead of Cartman. 

"I'll let you two go," she says, backing away from the car. "Good luck with this case. And stay safe!"

"Thanks," Stan says. "See you later, Bebe."

"Congrats on your baby!" Kyle yells as they drive away. She waves as they go.

"Isn't it interesting that everyone kind of stayed in South Park?" Kyle muses out loud, after a moment of silent reflection. "No one really left. And everyone stayed with their high school sweethearts, too."

Stan glances at him. "You, uh. You know I'm Wendy's second husband, right?"

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Well, uh. You missed a lot of drama, dude. A lot happened in the last fourteen years."

Kyle's curiosity is piqued. He turns to give Stan his full attention.

"Okay, so, her and Token went to college in Philadelphia together. He's an engineer, too, but he's in Boston now, I think. Anyway, they dated the whole time, and after they graduated, they went to Vegas to celebrate, got really drunk, and got married. That lasted about six months. Then they broke it off, Wendy came home, we started seeing each other again, and we got married a year or two later. Wait." Stan pauses. "Two, yeah. It was eight years ago. Right after Marcus was born."

Kyle nods along, until something dawns on him. "Wait, Mikey, he's twelve - are you saying-"

Stan nods. "Yeah, he's not mine. He doesn't know."

"He doesn't know?" Kyle thinks about it. Mikey did have dark brown eyes (although those could have been from Wendy) and suspiciously curly hair, considering how straight both his parents and sibling's hair was. Poor kid probably thought he was adopted. He looked sort of like them, but there was something off. Now that Kyle knows what it is, he's not sure why he's surprised.

Stan looks guilty. "He already doesn't like me, why would we give him reason to hate me more? Besides, it doesn't matter anyway. I raised him, from two on. I'm the only dad he knows."

"That's kinda fucked, Stan."

Stan shrugs. "Whatever. Hey, you're not wearing your fake ring."

"Raises more questions than answers out here," Kyle shrugs. He's still thinking about the fact that Mikey was Token's kid, and not Stan's, and he wants to discuss that more, but Stan clearly wants to move on. Kyle continues, "I decided to take it off until I get back home."

Stan looks skeptical, but he nods. "I get that."

Kyle looks at him. Then he reaches for the radio.

* * *

When they get to the station, the first thing Kyle does once they're inside is head to Clyde's desk. He's got a donut in his hand, but fortunately, he's drinking a Pepsi instead of coffee. He's not a complete stereotype, at least. He stands as soon as he sees them, nearly dropping his donut as he struggles to his feet.

"Did Cartman leave already?" Kyle asks, in lieu of an actual greeting.

"Uh huh. Twenty minutes ago, maybe." 

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah. Saw him as he left and said hi. We talked for a sec."

"He say anything interesting?"

Clyde frowns. "No. He was pretty mad. Said he was gonna go home and shave, then fuck his boyfriend. Then he flipped me off and left."

"Did the BAU team leave, too?"

Clyde shakes his head. "They're in there trying to come up with suspects. They won't let anyone back. You can review the interrogation tapes, though, if you wanna. Those are public now. Well, I mean, not public, but they're not confidential anymore. Most of us have seen them." He makes a face. "Cartman still doesn't have a filter, huh?"

"Damnit," Kyle says, exasperated. Of course the entire SPPD got to see Cartman bragging about their sexual activities in explicit detail. "Anything else?"

"Heidi showed up." Clyde points, and Kyle looks.

Heidi Turner is sat a few desks away, being interviewed by a dark-haired man who's got his back to them. Kyle remembers her from high school; she was in most of his honors classes. She'd been tall and pretty and sweet, and she always wore earrings with little daisies on them. Now, she's seemingly switched those earrings for more sophisticated ones; they're simple little diamond studs. She's in a pretty floral blouse, jeans, and grey Converse.

"Damn," Stan says. "This whole thing is just one big high school reunion, isn't it?"

"Didn't go to the real one for a reason," Kyle tells him, and Stan laughs agreeably and follows when Kyle heads over.

Heidi spots them before they can even introduce themselves. She stands up abruptly. "Kyle! Stan! Hey!"

"Hey, Heidi!" Stan opens his arms for a hug, and Kyle winces, because he hates hugs, hates the intimacy of them. Still, once his turn comes, he squeezes back.

She pulls away and looks him up and down. "Well, you look very dapper today."

"He looks dapper everyday," Stan says. "He pretty much sleeps in a suit."

"Of course he does," Heidi grins. She looks at both of them, smiling, then looks back at the man she'd been talking to, who's an older gentleman. "Oh, yeah, this is Agent Rossi. He's asking me about Eric."

Rossi stands, extending a hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he says politely, shaking Stan's first, then Kyle's. His grip is firm and his eyes are wise. "I understand you two were childhood friends of the suspect?"

Kyle tries not to be annoyed at having to go through this again, but Stan doesn't seem perturbed. "Yeah, we were inseparable throughout elementary school, although we kinda never really got along with him. We've never understood why we hung out with him, we just did."

Rossi looks at Kyle, and his dark eyes seem to look right through him. Kyle wants to look away, but he knows Rossi is assessing his body language, so he holds his gaze. "You were in a relationship with Eric, correct?"

Kyle glances at Heidi, who's smiling faintly at him. They'd always gotten along, although Kyle had often resented her, and he had a feeling the feeling had been fairly mutual throughout their adolescence. Heidi and Cartman had dated off and on toward the end of elementary school, rather catastrophically, and they'd remained close friends throughout the rest of school. Best friends, even. Back then, Kyle had been a bit jealous of the fact that Cartman was actually nice to someone, but he'd never minded their friendship. Mostly because he was happy for Cartman; he'd ever had a real, genuine best friend before. 

Their friendship, especially in high school, had lead to multiple humorous moments. There was one instance Kyle remembers vividly - after Cartman came out, Craig, who had been South Park's resident gay kid for several years, wasn't too happy about it, and he'd repeatedly dissed Cartman. Once, memorably, he'd said, "How much did Heidi pay you to pretend to be gay, just so she could have her very own gay best friend?" And Heidi had laughed and answered, "How do you know _he's_ the gay best friend?"

And that's how Heidi Turner came out.

"Dude," Stan says, shoving Kyle. "You zoned out. Agent Rossi asked you a question."

Kyle looks up. Rossi's raising his eyebrows. Kyle feels his face flush. "Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind. What was the question?"

Rossi shakes his head. "Nothing important. I'm gonna head back and talk with the others. It was nice meeting all of you."

The South Park Elementary alumni return the sentiment, and watch him leave.

Stan turns on Heidi instantly, overenthusiastic as ever. He's remarkably chipper today. Kyle envies that. He himself feels drained. "How the hell have you been, girl?"

Heidi laughs. "Oh, I've been fantastic! I'm up in Michigan now. I'm a fourth grader teacher, ironically enough." She leans in. "And I have a fiancé."

 _There it is again,_ Kyle thinks, a little bitterly. _Everybody has to brag about their significant other._ Maybe he's just jealous because he's still single, and no matter how hard he tries to tell himself he's not interested in sharing a domestic life with someone else, maybe he longs for it anyway - but it's getting on his nerves.

Stan, once more, in unbothered. "Ooh! Who's the lucky guy?"

Kyle cringes, and Heidi frowns at the well-intentioned detective. "Stan, I'm a lesbian."

He pales, then flushes, all in a matter of seconds. "Oh shit, oh yeah, you are, oh my God, I'm sorry! Who, uh. Who's the lucky lady?"

Heidi smiles again. "Her name's Cassidy. She's the counselor at the school I work at."

"Mazel tov," Kyle tells her, trying to forget his impatience. He wants to move, wants to try to help out with this case a little more before he has to leave, but he doesn't want to be rude.

"Yeah! Mazel tov!" Stan exclaims, having seemingly recovered from his embarrassment, and some younger cops glance over. Kyle glares at them, and they look away.

Heidi smiles. "Thanks, boys." Then her smile fades. "They let Eric go right before I showed up. I just got in - I've been meaning to fly out for a while, since" -her voice lowers- "since Red's son was murdered, but life kinda got in in the way."

Kyle frowns. "Hunter was killed two years ago." It took her that long to come out to support her friend?

Heidi looks guilty. "I'm afraid of flying. Getting on that plane was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I knew I needed to be here."

Kyle can respect that. He wishes he was that selfless. "Do you still talk to Cartman regularly?"

Heidi nods. "We text all the time. We're still pretty close. Not lately, obviously, since he's been in jail. I didn't know until recently. I was so damned worried, I must've texted him a hundred times."

"Did he ever say anything suspicious? On the phone, I mean?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. Eric apparently deletes all his texts, so I gave them my phone to look through, in case there's anything on there that they couldn't find in his phone records. You know, I'm sure they assumed he did that because he's guilty and there was incriminating evidence, but I think anyone who knows him just knows he's a weird, paranoid, conspiracy-theory freak who thinks the government's out to get him." She shrugs. "Eric's weird, but he's not a killer."

Stan leans in. "Don't tell anyone we told you this, but we pretty much established that he's not guilty."

"He's not?" Heidi actually puts a hand over her heart. _No wonder they were friends; she's as over-the-top as he is,_  Kyle thinks spitefully, then admonishes himself for being petty. "I knew it wasn't true. Who was it then?"

Stan shrugs. "That's what we're trying to find out."

Kyle's about to not-so-politely say goodbye, but Heidi's one step ahead of him. "Okay," she says, "I feel like I should let you go. It was nice seeing you guys again."

"Nice seeing you, too! You look amazing, by the way. I hope you have an awesome wedding, and-"

"Yep," Kyle says, grabbing Stan's sleeve and pulling him away, "congratulations on getting engaged, bye!"

"Hey," Stan says. "I was talking."

"I've got a flight to catch. On your own time, dude."

Kyle pulls him through the double doors than lead to all the interrogation and conference rooms. Stan's frowning. "Where are you even going? Cartman's not here, and the BAU people are busy."

"I wanna rewatch the interrogation tapes."

"God, why would you wanna do that?"

"See if we missed anything."

"Jeez, okay."

The blonde cop for the other day is sat in there. She looks up and smiles. "You here to watch the Eric Cartman tapes again?"

Kyle nods. "That'd be great, yeah. Thanks."

So they watch the tapes. Stan steps out of the room once or twice, when Cartman says some nasty shit to try and unnerve whoever is interrogating him at that time, but Kyle stays put. Mostly tunes out his words and watches his body language and his expressions instead. 

Cartman mentions having a cat; that Kyle hears. He scowls, because he hadn't seen any evidence of a cat when he and Stan had stopped by his place. He wishes he remembered to ask Butters.

It dawns on him, then, that maybe Cartman was lying about everything, not just the cat. He admitted to lying about football - what else did he fabricate?

He was a good actor; always had been. As a kid, he'd always been enthusiastic about dress-up games, and the asshole had taken theatre in high school. During freshmen year, Butters was in the drama club, and Cartman called him a fag, but the next year, when he joined theatre and they all reminded him exactly just what he thought of theatre, he'd just rolled his eyes and said, "Hey, when I'm in Hollywood making money and getting laid, and you assholes are out here working 9 to 5 and watching me on your shitty little TVs, it won't matter if theatre is for fags or not." Funny enough, even after coming out, Cartman never really equated 'fag' with 'gay'. He tried to beat up anyone who called him one, though.

At some point, once Kyle's eyes have started to burn from staring at the same little screen, Stan comes in and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Your flight's in an hour. Better get going."

"Shit," Kyle says. He's only on the first day of the interrogation. He looks at the woman. "Hey, is there any way I can get these emailed to me?"

She nods. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thanks. Hey, I never got your name." He puts a hand out. "I'm Kyle Broflovski."

She shakes his hand. "Jennifer Jareau. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," he says. 

When the leave the room, Stan whistles. Kyle tells him to shut up. 

* * *

They're halfway to Denver, chit-chatting mindlessly, when Kyle notices the clock. He sits up quickly in his seat. "Stan, what the hell? It's only one! My flight's at three!"

"I wanted to go to lunch with you." Stan looks a little embarrassed. "Nothing fancy, just a drive-through or something. Just wanted to hang out for a second. Like old times. Remember?"

Kyle purses his lips. Stan's in needy mode. Still, it might be nice to do something that doesn't involve this case. Besides, he does still enjoy Stan's company. All these years later, and they're still compatible as friends, which is a relief, for some reason. "Alright, fine," he says.

Stan beams.

They get Taco Bell, sit in the parking lot, and talk about basketball. It's a welcome change of pace. Between Stan going on about the Lakers (Kyle thinks the Bulls are better) and his Gordita Supreme®, he forgets the murders entirely.

And then Stan gets a call. 

"Shit," Stan says, licking sour cream off his fingers and then wiping them sloppily on his pants. Kyle makes a face at his grossness and shoves a napkin at his friend, which Stan doesn't take, too busy awkwardly trying to get his phone out of his back pocket, where the ringing is slightly muffled by his ass.

He succeeds and holds it up to his ear. "You've reached the phone of Stan Marsh." Pause. "Yeah, he's with me, we're catching a bite before I drop him off." Pause. "Shit, what?"

Stan looks at Kyle, eyebrows knitted, and Kyle frowns. _What?_ , he mouths.

Stan holds the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker. Brooks' voice fills the car.

"-we've learned some critical new information. Considering Agent Broflovski's flying back to New York anyway, I figured he could make a pit stop along the way."

"What's the new information?" Stan asks, sounding a bit wary.

"Eric Cartman and Leopold Stotch were both with the second to last victim, Nick Corwin, when he was last seen - and so were two other former classmates of the suspect."

Stan and Kyle exchange glances. Kyle bites his lip. He has a guess.

Stan's the one who takes the bait. "Who?"

"Craig and Tweak Tucker."

* * *

There's stunned silence. Brooks goes on to tell them that they're sending a team of agents to find and interrogate Cartman again, and that Kyle's ticket to Craig and Tweak's home in Houston, Texas is already booked. Then she says goodbye, and the line goes dead. 

Stan starts yelling, uncharacteristically angry. Kyle doesn't blame him. "Fuck, dude, is fucking everyone involved? What the hell is this? Maybe it's a fucking kill all the gingers cult! It's fucking insane! What the fuck? This is so fucked."

Kyle kind of wants to start yelling, too, and if he was younger, he probably would, but he knows that won't help anyone. Stan's anxiety isn't good for his own, so he puts on his most reassuring voice and says, "Dude, chill. Apparently Cartman and Butters like to hang out with Tweek and Craig sometimes and, I dunno, be gay together. They just happened to encounter one of the victims."

Stan's having none of it. "Maybe fucking Craig's the unsub! He's always been a weird monotone asshole, maybe he was hiding that he was a psycho the whole time!"

"Don't throw the word psycho around, man, you know it can't be used lightly."

"I dunno, dude, does Craig seem Norman Bates-y to you? He does to me. Always struck me as some sort of demented cross-dresser type."

"Dude, not cool. You can't say shit like that."

"Maybe coffee is the only thing that keeps Tweek from murder, and he recently had to stop drinking for health reasons!"

"Stan, you sound like a goddamn raving lunatic. Shut the hell up."

Stan points at him, accusatory. "You told me not to say psycho, but you just said lunatic!"

"It's different. Fuck, dude." Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose, then realizes what he's doing. Damn, what kind of role reversal is going on? Stan's angry, and Kyle has to cool him down? He takes a deep breath. "Why are you trying to pin this on Tweek or Craig?"

"'Cause who else could it be? It's not Cartman, we ruled that out. It's not Butters-"

"Are you sure? It could be, he's always had issues-"

"Dude, we talked about this. Butters doesn't fit the profile. He's not charming, he's awkward and insecure. He's not single, he's been with Cartman for years. He doesn't know shit about cars work, he's just the secretary."

"You sure? Cartman probably showed him some stuff, or he just learned over the years-"

"No, he doesn't; trust me. One time, a few months back, I was driving him home, and we got a flat tire, and I asked if he knew how to change it, and he didn't. I did, so we were fine, but he didn't, okay? He's not the guy. I don't know how you can think he's the guy." He squints at Kyle. "I think you're just jealous of him and Cartman's relationship, so you're making shit up."

"What? No, dude. He just seemed off to me, I dunno, and his close proximity to Cartman kinda tipped me off. I'm not jealous, jeez." Kyle scowls. "Why were you driving him home anyway?"

Stan suddenly winces, like he said something he shouldn't. 

Kyle squints at him. "Stan," he says firmly. "What happened?"

Stan huffs. "They only have one car, and sometimes Cartman gets mad and bails on Butters wherever they're at, and Butters gets stuck there. So, recently, he called me up asking to pick him up from Starks Pond."

Kyle's response is to jerk forward, but his seat belt catches him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He angrily unbuckles it, then turns to look at Stan in disbelief. "Dude? Fucking Starks Pond? That's where the murders were, you dumb fuck! I knew he was the fucking guy! Why didn't you report-"

"Stop fucking talking over me!" Stan yells, and Kyle quiets, feeling a little bad. There's a tenseness buzzing in the air. Stan takes in a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "They like to hang out there. Cartman and Butters, I mean. I don't know if you know this, but that's how they got together - both times. Before and after."

It was well known that Cartman and Butters were an item prior to Kyle and Cartman's relationship. It was never specifically confirmed, not publicly, anyway, but their closer proximity and Cartman's lack of insults directed at Butters during freshman year were noted and talked about. Of course, like everything about their teenage relationships, word got back to the parents, and Butters' dad banned the two from seeing each other. That didn't stop a secret relationship, though - and it really was secret. Kyle only knew because Cartman had told him, once, on the drive back from a late night trip to the coolest pet store in Denver, about a month or two after they'd started dating. It'd been impulsive; Cartman needed cat foot, and he'd asked Kyle if he wanted to go with. They ended up spending three hours there, fooling around, looking at the cool exotic animals, petting puppies. Kyle had had an awesome time. It was _fun_.

On the way back, Cartman had been in a very good mood; he was passive, relaxed, happy, and, best of all, philosophical. Kyle was a sucker for discussions about deep, existential shit, so he'd been thrilled, since usually Cartman wasn't one for deeper thought. He was more interested in material things, always had been. So when Cartman started going on about how the world worked, how people were, how people thought, Kyle had listened intently. Not only because it was interesting to finally discuss something meaningful with someone else, but because it also gave Kyle a glimpse into Cartman's mind. 

Somehow, they got on the subject of Butters, and Cartman revealed they saw each other in secret for a few months after Stephen had forbidden them from seeing each other.

"It wasn't, like, some romantic, faggy, Romeo and Juliet type forbidden shit," he'd explained. "It was just, you know. Convenience. We were both pent up. It's hard to be the only gays in a little town."

"You're not the only gays," Kyle had told him. "There's a bunch, dude. I mean, we're all kinda gay. I'm kinda gay."

"Kinda really fucking gay," Cartman had laughed, and it wasn't mean-spirited, it wasn't said with hatred - it was playful. They were getting along, and enjoying each other's company. That's how it was, freakishly, for the first half of their relationship - until things started going downhill. 

But that wasn't the point. The point was this; Kyle had technically been why they'd broken up the first time, as well as why they'd gotten together the second. Well, Kyle's relationship with Cartman was to blame. Cartman's infatuation with Kyle had lead to the dissipation of his first go with Butters; losing him had lead to their second try, which seems to have lasted nearly fifteen years.

Stan's talking again. "After you and Cartman broke up, he went to Stark's Pond to be depressed about it, and Butters happened to be there, and they, like, reignited their spark, you know? And before, that's where they first got together. So there's, like, history, okay? That's why they were there."

"It's uncanny, dude," Kyle says. "I just think something's not right with him, okay?"

"Quit accusing my friends of murder," Stan grumbles, putting the car into drive and pulling out of their parking space.

"Cartman's your friend, but you were the one who raised your hand when Morgan asked who thought he was guilty!"

"I thought he was." Stan retorts. 

"Whatever. I'm done talking about this."

"Fine."

They drive in tense silence for a whole half hour, until they reach the terminals. Stan pulls up at the very first one.

Kyle silently climbs out and gets his bag from the trunk. He steps onto the sidewalk and looks through the window at his childhood friend, opening his mouth to speak.

Stan beats him to it. His tone is rigid. "I'll keep you updated."

Kyle's a little bummed that he's leaving on a sour note. "I'm sorry, Stan," he says.

Stan keeps his eyes straight ahead.

Kyle frowns and backs away from the car, and watches as Stan leaves.

* * *

The flight's short and fairly comfortable. It's the length of a short movie, so Kyle watches Stand by Me for the sixth time. He doesn't process most of it, too busy worrying about his relationship with Stan. They'd just reunited, and they already fucked it up.

Once he lands in Texas, he stops to call Brooks for the address. Then he hurries out and quickly flags down a cab.

After a twenty minute drive, they pull up to a cute little apartment complex. Kyle pays the driver and steps out, looking at the buildings. He looks down at the paper with the address on it - then he huffs and gets his phone out. He hates when he has to depend on others.

Brooks answers on the first ring. "Everything alright, Broflovski?"

"Can you call Crai- Mr. Tucker and tell him to come outside? This apartment place looks like a maze, I don't have the time or patience to go around looking for their apartment."

Brooks laughs shortly. "I'll call him for you."

"Thank you." Kyle hangs up and begins to wait, arms crossed.

It takes six torturous minutes, but from around the corner emerges a dark-haired man Kyle has barely even thought of since he left. Kyle goes to greet him.

"Kyle." Craig greets him with an awkward hand shake. His voice is still flat and nasally, which Kyle was expecting. "Good to see you, buddy."

Kyle looks him over. He stopped wearing his silly hat in junior high, and his hair's mid-length and combed back neatly. He's in a blue polo t-shirt and black jeans, his usual color scheme, but he's wearing red socks with white sandles, which is a little upsetting.

His face is just like Kyle remembers; a little plain but still attractive, and with a permanent frown on it. Even now, as he's about to be questioned about a murder, he looks completely uninterested.

Craig lifts a brow at him. "So I hear your ex-boyfriend disemboweled some teenagers."

Kyle blinks, surprised at his bluntness. In hindsight, he probably should have anticipated it. Subtly was never Craig's strong suit. "There wasn't any disemboweling, actually. And it wasn't teenagers." He doesn't mention Hunter. Either Craig doesn't know, or he thinks it's unrelated. "And Cartman's not the perp."

"He's not?" Now Craig seems genuinely surprised. "We saw it on the news that they found his DNA on the bodies."

Jesus, that got to the press already? Kyle purses his lips. "Only one of the bodies. Which just makes it look like someone tried to frame him last minute."

Craig doesn't look convinced. "Cartman was always a fucking psycho, I don't know why anyone's surprised. When I heard the news, I wasn't."

"He didn't do it," Kyle repeats.

"Sure," Craig says, "and I'm not gay."

Kyle frowns at him. Craig frowns back.

The redhead takes a deep breath. Craig's difficult, always has been; Tweek's a little easier to deal with. He's hyper-active, sure, but at least he's not frustratingly bland like Craig. He'll be easier to talk to, surely.

"So," Kyle tries as they start to head toward Craig's apartment. "How's life?"

"Okay," Craig says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Kyle tries again: "Why'd you guys settle down in Texas? Aren't people really homophobic out here?"

"Work," Craig says simply.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a meteorological technician at NASA at the Johnson Space Center. You know. Where that one space shuttle blew up in, like. The eighties."

"That was in Florida, I believe."

"Oh. Well, where the other one blew up."

" _Columbia_? I think that was in California."

Craig turns to look at Kyle. His eyes narrow. Then he looks away and falls silent. Kyle smiles to himself and follows Craig up some stairs. 

The door's unlocked, and Craig pushes it open and steps inside, with Kyle close behind. "Honey? Kyle's here."

"Coming!" That's the still-strangled voice of Tweek, who appears in the doorway between the living room and what's probably the kitchen. He's got a mug in his hands. Some things never change. "Hi, Kyle."

Kyle smiles, as friendly as he can. "Hello, Tweek." He looks him up and down. He's gained a little weight, now looking pleasantly plump, which suits his small frame better; he doesn't look so unhealthy. He's in beige dress slacks, a slightly-darker beige sweater, and purple socks. He's also wearing glasses, and apparently he's farsighted, because they appear to be magnifiers, and they make his hazel eyes look bigger than they really are. His hair's still got that mad-scientist look, like he's been rubbing a balloon on his head, but he's not shaking, despite the coffee cup in his hand. He kind of looks like that one eccentric professor everyone had.

"Come on, get comfy - take a seat!" Tweek sits down cross-legged in one of the two armchairs, nursing his mug between his legs. It's a little too transparent to be coffee, so Kyle figures it must be tea, which is bizarre. 

Kyle's been in so many strange houses lately that he almost doesn't want to look around, tired of being reminded that all his friend's have picture-perfect lives, and his, while it's nothing to complain about, is far from ideal, at least to him. Still, he looks around, taking it all in. It's cozy - an odd mix between modern and old-fashioned, which probably reflects Craig and Tweek's respective tastes in furniture. They don't have couches, just two armchairs; one for each of them. The one Tweek's sat in, which is probably his, is fluffy and large and a pastel yellow color, and he looks tiny in it. Craig's, which is next to it, is shorter and more square-shaped, and it's a darker green. It reminds Kyle vaguely of something from some kid's movie he'd seen.

They've got two TVs; one is muted and playing the news, and the other is turned down low and playing stand-up comedy. They're both flat screen TVs that are the same size. It makes Kyle smile. Something about it is wonderfully domestic, in a way that makes him yearn. He stops thinking about that, in favor of examining the walls. Unlike Cartman and Butters and their barren walls, and the Marsh's family-pictured covered walls, Craig and Tweek have framed paintings everywhere. They look good, but there's a home-made quality to them, like they've been done by an amateur. Since Craig was never noticeably artistic, Kyle figures they were probably done by Tweek, as a method of relaxation. He's got a knack for it, and they add color to the otherwise fairly plain room. Kyle's not surprised Tweek is a talented artist, he's just surprised his hands stopped shaking long enough for him to make art at all.

He finds out why Tweek's not shaking not long after.

Craig goes to get a chair from the kitchen, generously allowing Kyle to sit in his chair. He returns and places it right beside Tweek's. Once he takes a seat, he leans forward. There's a small coffee table with a thick book on top. Craig lifts the lid of the book, which clearly isn't an actual book, and reaches inside. He produces a ceramic bowl, and immediately lifts it to Kyle; an offering.

Kyle hasn't smoked since high school, and even then, he'd only tried it once or twice. He wasn't a big fan. He distinctly remembers one time, during freshman year, when he actually hadn't smoked, but the others guys had. He remembers Kenny offering Cartman a bowl, and Cartman saying something along the lines of, "I don't fuck with that fancy shit. I like joints. They're natural and old-fashioned. The Romans used joints." Then Kenny had said, "The papers aren't natural, dumbass. You wanna get high like they did in Jesus time? Get syphilis." Most of the boys didn't get the joke, but Kyle remembers laughing hysterically. It really wasn't that funny, but he was admittedly little drunk at the time.

He contemplates it for a moment, but decides against it. He shakes his head at Craig, who shrugs and says, "Your loss."

"You guys are potheads now?" he asks. Leave it to fucking Craig to smoke in front of an FBI agent. Was weed legal in Texas? Kyle didn't even know.

Craig nods as he reaches for the book again. He produces a baggy full of the stuff, and promptly gets to packing the bowl full of it. Tweek watches tensely.

"Yeah," he says. "I smoked a lot in school, and I've been doing it since. I got Tweek to start smoking during college, after years of trying. The coffee's just so bad for him. This is much better for him, don't you think?"

Once it's ready, he hands it to Tweek, who, with trembling fingers, lifts the mouthpiece to his lips. Craig lights it for him, and Tweek inhales deeply, then blows out a huge cloud of smoke. He sags in his seat and hands the bowl back to Craig, who lights it for himself.

Kyle's watching them through narrowed eyes. "I guess."

They sit in silence for approximately three seconds, before Tweek blurts, "Cartman murdered eight people?"

"Damn," Craig says. "So much for taking it slow, Tweek."

"He's no longer a suspect," Kyle confirms, for what feels like the sixtieth time.

"Who is then?" Tweek looks at Craig, who's staring at the TV, looking bored. He lightly touches Craig's hand, and, without looking away from the comedy special, Craig lifts up the bowl again. Tweek takes it from him with a little smile.

"That's why I'm here." Kyle leans forward. "You guys are close to Butters and Cartman."

"We fly out to be with our parents every year," Tweek says, swatting at some ashes as they drift through the air. "For Christmas. Around five or six years ago, we were at a, uh, club in Denver, and Eric and Leo were there, and we hit it off. Like a reunion. From then on, we started a tradition."

"We go out on Christmas Eve with them and get hammered," Craig finishes.

"Fun," Kyle says. "How about last Christmas? Who were you with?"

"Them," Tweek says. "Eric and Leo. And, uh, you know, sometimes other guys would come and drink with us. We're both monogamous couples, though. Well, I think. Sometimes Eric can get a little flirty."

"Butters doesn't like that very much," Craig says. "You can tell when he's jealous, 'cause he sits there and pouts. Like, he'll cross his arms and not touch his drink. But he never confronts Cartman about it." 

Kyle looks at Tweek. "What do you mean by flirty?"

Tweek looks at Craig, who shrugs and speaks for him. "He just, like, puts his arm around whoever is with us. You know. He's a touchy-feely drunk, he just hugs people and shit. It wasn't like he was making out with anyone, but it seemed to piss Butters off pretty good." Craig laughs, a little meanly. "It's kinda funny, honestly."

"Would Cartman, uh. Eric. Would he invite people to drink with you guys?"

Craig nods. "Yeah, see, we go to gay bars, so it's mostly just guys dancing and stuff, and me, Tweek, and Butters, we usually mind our own business, but Cartman will strike up a conversation with someone, and he'll buy them a drink, and he'll hang out with them all night." He frowns. "I think he's just lonely. People still hate him, you know. Butters is his only real friend. And Butters is okay, but he's Butters, and I'm sure Cartman gets bored. Can't really blame him for that."

Cartman did always view people as entertainment, rather than actual humans with actual feelings - unless they were important enough for him to bother to view differently. Kyle wasn't able to fix that part of him. 

Craig stands up suddenly. "Excuse me," he says blandly. "I gotta piss."

"Craig!" Tweek chastises as he watches him go. "Don't be gross." He leans forward and puts the bowl on the table, then looks at Kyle. "Craig likes to pretend he's still the same monotone asshole from school, but he's not. He emotes now. Sometimes, anyway. Like when we see babies." He leans toward Kyle, who forces himself to look into Tweek's freakishly big eyes. "Guess what? We're expecting!"

 _Fucking kids again_ , Kyle thinks, but he fakes a smile. "Holy shit, congrats! Surrogate?"

Tweek nods. "We found a lady who kinda looks like me, and we, you know, we had her inseminated with Craig's sperm. So she looks, uh - so the baby looks like both of us. She's due in February." Tweek no longer tics when he speaks, but he speaks in quick fragments, dicing his speech into non-rhythmic pieces. It's odd, and kind of hard to follow, but it's okay.

"Wow, congratulations," Kyle says, and hopes he doesn't come off as too insincere. Honestly, he almost doesn't care if he does. "What are you gonna name her?"

"I want something simple. Craig wants all this weird shit." Tweek shrugs. He's tapping his foot, anxiously. Kyle wonders if that "weed" is something stronger. "I say Mary, he says Plum. I say Taylor, he says Breeze. I say Lily, he says Artemis." Tweek huffs. "Considering he's still in love with space, I guess I should be grateful he doesn't wanna name the kid Protostar or Achondrite or something."

"Yeah," Kyle says.

"Ah ha!" Craig says as he comes back, joyous in the most toneless way possible. "The _Columbia_  was scheduled to land in Texas! I told you."

"My mistake," Kyle tells him. He knew that. Actually, no, he didn't. "Hey, congrats on your kid." Maybe he can butter him up.

"Tweek told you?" Craig sits. Tweek tugs at his sleeve, and Craig pulls his lighter from his pocket again. The two resume their smoking, and Tweek's foot stops tapping. Kyle frowns. So Craig got him off coffee and put him on pot, which isn't usually addictive. Maybe it's laced with something. Kyle won't comment because he's not an asshole.

Kyle nods. "Yeah. Everybody's having kids, it's crazy."

"Do you have any?" Craig asks.

"No, and I don't intend to any time soon." Kyle says it a little too defensively, and curses himself. He wants to be a dad, more so after seeing all his friends with their picket fence lives, but that's just the thirty-year-old crisis talking. 

"Okay," Craig says. "Tweek, babe, can you make me a drink?"

"Sure. The usual?"

"Yeah, but with more brandy."

"Okay."

They watch him go.

"He looks like  _The Nutty Professor_ ," Kyle comments.

Craig snorts out a laugh, then goes silent. 

Time to get to business. Kyle leans in. "So Cartman, uh. He said something about you two hooking up. Back in high school, you know; after me and him broke up. Called it a passionate love affair. I can never believe that bastard, so I wanted to ask you."

Craig blinks at Kyle, and takes a sip of Tweek's tea. Kyle waits patiently for a response, and finally gets one. "Towards the end of senior year, he comes up to me while I'm smoking and asks if I wanted a blowjob. I told him to fuck off. That was the end of our 'passionate love affair'."

Kyle nods. Figures. "Yeah, I thought so."

Craig makes a sour face. "What'd that fat fuck say about me?"

"He said you guys fucked for a few months during the summer."

Craig snorts. "Like I'd let that lying piece of shit near my ass."

"Actually, in his story, he said you didn't want to bottom, because you refused to be fucked like a bitch."

Craig's lips actually quirks up. "He got something right." Then he looks disgusted. "I still wouldn't want my dick anywhere near him. Only a fuckin' idiot would willingly fuck him." He lifts his head, looking almost apologetic. Then he purses his lips and rolls his eyes. "Full offense."

Kyle laughs quietly. "Yeah." Craig was right. He was an idiot.

"He was crying," Craig says suddenly, taking another sip.

Kyle looks up. "Huh?"

"Cartman. He was crying when he asked. Like, really crying. All snotty and-" Craig breaks off to mockingly imitate someone who's genuinely sobbing, sounding vaguely like Clyde. He stops and shakes his head. "Honestly, I was with Tweek back then, but he never put out and I was horny 24/7 at that age, so I probably would've accepted his offer if I wasn't so grossed out by him. It wasn't even the fact that he was Cartman, honestly, I just don't like when people cry, man. It's fucking weird. Makes me uncomfortable, 'cause I never know what to do to make them feel better. Plus, I guess some subconscious part of me knew it'd be shitty to take advantage of him when he was obviously all fucked up." He thinks for a moment, then adds, "Even if he probably deserved it."

Kyle tries not to imagine teenage Craig, all lean and bad-boyish and stoic, fucking the mouth of a baby-faced and teary-eyed Cartman. He hates himself for thinking it's kind of a hot image, especially considering he was the reason Cartman was crying in the first place. Well, his dumb teenage self was.

He used to get off on that, he remembers. The idea of having control over Cartman used to appeal to him; it made him happy to think about in elementary school, and it turned him on once he hit puberty. But now it just makes him feel gross. He feels like he may have contributed to some of Cartman's issues - both prior to their relationship and during it.

They were so fucked up.

Tweek returns, and hands Craig a class of spirits. He looks at Kyle. "If it makes any difference, Cartman only ever talked to redheads."

Fucking A. Kyle opens his mouth, just as his phone rings.

"Shit," he says, standing. "Excuse me."

"No problem," Craig says, not looking up from the TV. 

Kyle goes to stand in the kitchen and answers the phone. 

It's Stan. He sounds panicked. "Fuck, dude, there's - there's a lot - hold on."

"Stan? Stan! What the hell, dude?" Kyle wants to be grateful Stan's not too mad to call him, but he's busy being worried. "What's wrong?"

"Gimme a sec," Stan says, and Kyle frowns. He can faintly hear Tweek and Craig talking in the living room.

"C'mere, you nutty professor," Craig says, lovingly.

"Eddie Murphy or Jerry Lewis?" is Tweek's coy response.

"No. That weird animated one."

"There's an animated one? The fuck?"

There's a pause, and then: "The fuck indeed."

Then Stan's back. "Kyle, fuck, dude."

"What?"

"Okay, listen." Stan's panting. "Cartman and Butters, they're missing."

Kyle's heart stops. "What?"

"When we went to talk to Cartman about the victim he was seen with, no one was home. No one's seen either of them all day."

Kyle's about to start yelling about how he fucking knew it, of course Butters was the unsub, when Stan interrupts.

"Before you say it was Butters, I need you to know something else. Just don't get mad, okay? I didn't tell you this, 'cause I didn't think it was relevant, but Cartman has a business associate, right, this kid named Elijah Jefferson that he met in Santa Monica six years ago. Happens to be red haired and Jewish, right? And he kinda looks a lot like you. I met him a few times; he even kind of acts like you. Never thought about it before, though. He's kind of forgettable. Not that you are, uh. But he is. Anyway, I guess they had an affair, and this kid got so close to Cartman that he moved out here to be near him. Creepy, right?

"He's a lawyer, ironically, and a fairly well-known guy up in Denver, so once bodies started showing up, we expected him to be in danger, so we had an officer keep an eye on him, just in case, but the officer went home once Cartman was released and we decided Eli was safe."

Kyle knows what's coming, but he still has to ask. "Okay. Point?"

Stan lets out a shaky breath. "Eli went missing this morning, too. We think he's the unsub, and he's kidnapped Cartman and Butters. It's his end game."

Kyle frowns. Of course it was someone no one suspected. It makes sense. Still, he asks, "Do we have proof?"

"Yeah, see, like I said, they had an affair, and, according to an email sent to a friend, they've continued sleeping together since. I think two years ago, when the first body disappeared, was when the stressor happened - Eli found out Cartman only liked him 'cause he looked like you. That fucked him up."

Kyle scowls. It makes sense. 

"Eli was sleeping with his boss," Stan explains, even though Kyle's already pieced it together in his head. "He fell in love with Cartman, who only fucked him because he looked like you, and he acted out his revenge by slaughtering anyone who looks like you because he couldn't kill the real thing. Now he's gonna kill himself and take the man who couldn't love him back with him."

"How's Butters fit into that?"

"Butters is Cartman's actual lover, even if he's still in love with you. Butters kept Eli from officially being with Cartman, you know? He must resent him for that." Stan sounds almost saddened. "I think Cartman is the unsub's final target, and he's pissed he couldn't successfully frame him, and I think Butters got in the way so he took him, too-"

"But if it's all centered around me, shouldn't he have come after me?"

"Maybe he viewed you as, I dunno, unattainable."

Kyle shakes his head. "It just doesn't seem right."

"It all lines up! Point is, we're looking into it. We're sending a team to Eli's house now, I'm going with. Hopefully we can figure out where he took Butters and Cartman in time." There's yelling on Stan's end. "Shit, gotta go. I'll keep in touch if I can, okay?"

He hangs up. Kyle pulls the phone away from his ear and heads back into the living room. Craig's in his armchair now, and the two of them are holding hands. 

"You two ever meet a kid named Eli?" Kyle asks.

The couple looks at each other, shrugging. Then Craig shakes his head. "I don't think so, no."

"Last time you saw Cartman, who was he with?"

Craig shakes his head and looks at Tweek. "Who was it, babe? I forget."

"Butters and some redhead kid-" Tweek starts.

Kyle curses and starts for the door. "Thanks for your time."

Tweek stands, too. "Are you going back to South Park?"

"Yeah," he says.

Tweek pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. "You need a ride?"

Kyle looks at the keys, then at Tweek. He smiles.

* * *

 Craig ends up driving ("I get road rage," Tweek explains, which makes sense), and he's bad at it. Kyle feels a bit sick by the time they get to the airport. 

Kyle steps out of the Fiat 500 and looks through the window. "Thanks so much," he says.

"No problem!" Tweek says. "Keep in touch, if you want."

"Yeah," Craig says. "If you want."

"I will," Kyle says, and he's lying, but it's not like he had a bad time with them. He's just too busy to fly out to visit. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

As he waits in line to buy a ticket back - he'll have to pay with his own money, this time around, and he can only pray they have a flight soon - he calls Stan.

"I'm coming back," he says, as soon as Stan answers.

"Kyle, don't. It's a two hour flight, we'll have found them by then. You can go home, it's okay."

"No! It's still my case, goddamnit, and my ex-boyfriend might be dead right now! Asshole or not, I don't like the thought of him being murdered, alright? I'm coming back."

"Kyle," Stan pleads, sounding like he might cry. "I don't wanna argue about this-"

"Stan, I need to be there."

"Fine," Stan says. "We'll talk once you get off the plane. Stay safe."

He hangs up. Kyle puts his phone away and tries not to chew his lip raw.

In front of him, a young woman appears to be arguing with her boyfriend on the phone. "No, you got the mini ones! I told you to get the jumbo marshmallows, Josh! We can't make smores with mini marshmallows!"

What Kyle would give for _that_ to be his biggest problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cartman and Heidi are MLM and WLW solidarity. Haha. That was suspenseful, huh? Next chapter's where shit goes down. BTW, it was hard to write a non-spazzy Tweek, so I hope he still seemed in character. Also, did you catch some of the references I put in there? Tell me if you did! Thanks for reading, see you in another six months! Kidding, I'm gonna try to update faster. Really, though, hope you enjoyed!


	6. I Saw You Close Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's Cartman, tied up in a chair that's wedged between the empty table and blood-splattered couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's sorta short considering the monster that was last chap, but it's the predecessor to the exciting finale, so I hope it's excusable lol. I actually was supposed to post this last Sat, but I didn't want to rush myself and post something shitty. Hope y'all didn't mind the extra wait. Still, got it finished pretty quick considering my situation; kinda proud of myself for that. And I even started writing the final two chapters to this already, so they should be up soonish too. Maybe even before 2017's over.
> 
> Quick thing - Kyle uses Skype on a plane on this chapter? I haven't been on a plane since 2006, so I don't know what they're like now, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to use technology? Or just Wifi, I dunno, but you definitely can't Skype, as far as I can tell. That's why Airplane Mode exists, yeah? But on Criminal Minds, they always Skype Garcia from their jet. And I know it's a fictional show, but that always bothered me. Still, I'm bending the rules, and since the BAU can Skype from a plane, so can Kyle in this. Eh.
> 
> Finally: I've been trying not to date this fic, but the content in this chapter required it. So, the events of fic chapter take place in late June 2015, with the boys being born around 1983 - just because dates become necessary in this chapter. I went through and edited the two or three little instances I mentioned a throwaway date previous to this, so everything correlates, but none of the changes were big.
> 
> So yeah. Enjoy the calm before the storm!

Kyle's got his fake ring on again. He put it on during the car ride, while listening from the backseat to Tweek and Craig discuss what they wanted to have for dinner. He'd felt it in his pocket and decided he needed a piece of his old life back. He missed New York; missed a home where his demons weren't everywhere he looked.

Now, he's in line to buy his ticket, absently twisting it around his finger. There's six people in front of him, including a very rowdy family of seven. He turns around and surveys those behind him. Eight.

The girl behind him, the marshmallow girl, who's a pretty blonde that can't be a day over twenty, is looking at him when he glances back, and he catches her glance. She looks away, embarrassed at having been caught staring. 

Kyle's torn between ignoring her like he so desperately wants to, or offering her some kind words, since she looks like she could really use it. His better nature wins, and he heaves a quiet sigh before asking her, "Hey. You okay?"

She looks up, wide-eyed; alarmed to be addressed directly. She looks down again, pouting her lips. "Yeah, my boyfriend's just an asshole. He never listens to me."

"Men can suck," he tells her, and she smiles halfheartedly. She's pretty, and she seems sweet - she deserves better than a jerk boyfriend. He feels awkward as hell, but, ever the good Samaritan, he says, "Have you told him that you hate how he never listens?"

"Yeah," she says, "but he doesn't listen to that, either."

"Give him an ultimatum."

"Huh?"

"Tell him he needs to start listening, or you're breaking up with him. If he can't do that for you, then he doesn't really love you and you deserve better. If he can, then problem solved."

She smiles. "That's a really good idea! Wow, thanks." Then she points at his ring. "You're married? No wonder you have good relationship advice."

Kyle's about to answer truthfully, that it's fake, before he realizes he'll never see her again, so it doesn't matter if he lies. He decides she's more likely to follow his advice and confront her own problems head-on if she pities him and doesn't want to end up like him, and she'll only do that if he tells some tragic sob story.

So he smiles, as sadly as he can. "Widowed."

The girl gasps. "Oh no! Your wife died?"

Kyle kind of wants to say, 'No, my husband,' just out of spite, but he doesn't; he just nods solemnly. "Yeah. Two years ago. Plane crash."

"How horrible!" The line moves up one. They both shuffle forward. Marshmallow Girl gestures to the line. "You're not scared to go on a plane after that?"

"Oh, I was. But I'm facing my fears." He's trying to squeeze some inspirational bullshit into this; maybe change a life. Who knows? "Can't let fear control your life, you know?"

The girl tears up a little.

"Thank you," she says simply, before rushing off, as fast as she can with her big purple suitcase in tow. Kyle watches her go, smiling to himself.  _Well, go fucking figure_.

The ticket costs an arm and a leg, but Kyle's got money to spare, since he'd been saving up for that Mexico trip he'd been robbed of. Still, he figures; it never hurts to have a substantial amount of cash in your bank account. He'll spend it on a rainy day; there were plenty of those in New York. Or, he'll just save it for his next vacation; one where he's not interrupted a week into it. Or he'll cave into an impulsive desire that's been at the back of his mind for years, and, once he gets home, adopt a dog or cat, and buy a shit ton of luxury stuff for them. He'd spent the drive with Tweek and Craig thinking about that, to distract himself from the happy couple and their cute, domestic conversations. He's hoping a pet might potentially cure his loneliness. He's never been much of an animal person, but coming home to a furry friend sounds pretty inviting, he has to admit.

He ends up in the window seat this time around, in coach because he's admittedly cheap, and he decides he hates planes. Usually, he's on a private, uncrowded, government-owned jet with the rest of his team, but the solitary nature of this case means he's been stuck on public transport. He's flown, what, three times now, in two days?

The flight's not very long, and he's too anxious to try to sleep, so he decides to look more into the case. Maybe he can figure out where Eli took Butters and Cartman.

Using his company laptop, he Skypes a pal of his from the New York field office. Dalton answers on the second ring.

"Hey, ging twin," Dalton says by way of greeting. They're both redheads, the only redheads in their division, actually, and they've bonded over it - though that's really all they've got in common. Dalton's short and chubby and geeky, and a little too talkative and excitable, but he's good-natured and charming, and he has a really nice long term girlfriend named Tanisha who Kyle's team has theorized might be an actual angel. The two of them had actually invited Kyle on a double-date with Tanisha's sister once, but he'd politely declined. Sometimes he regrets that, even if it was six years ago. They're a fun bunch.

He really needs to get out more.

"Hey," Kyle says. The old lady two seats over sits forward to look at him and frown. Kyle awkwardly smiles at her and looks back at the screen.

Dalton's grinning at him. "What's good, my man?"

Dalton's the tech analyst on Kyle's usual team, and he's a damn good one, but he's not the one Kyle needs. He glances around, then holds the microphone on his earbuds up to his mouth and begins to whisper. "Yeah, hey, man, can you get me a hold of a TA named Garcia? I think she's at the Quantico branch."

Dalton frowns. He's in his home office, which has music posters taped all over the walls and colorful lights on the ceiling. A blue beam illuminates Freddie Mercury, and a green one is hitting Dean Martin. He's listening to music, too, but it's too faint for Kyle to hear what it is. "Sure, but damn, what, I'm not good enough?"

Kyle knows he's teasing, so he humors him. "Nope, you fucking suck, dude. Get me her goddamn IP."

Dalton laughs merrily. "Okay, got you." He hums to himself as he types, then sits back and puts his arms behind his head. "Emailed you her address. Hey, we heard your vacation got fucked 'cause the bureau needed you. What's that about?"

Kyle looks to his left again. He probably shouldn't be discussing this shit in front of pedestrians. Confidential information, and all that. But hopefully that grumpy old lady two seats over is hard of hearing, and he knows the woman sat beside him definitely can't hear him; she has headphones on, and Kyle can faintly hear her metal music.

He shrugs, professionalism out the window, and looks back to Dalton. "I had a personal connection to a suspect. They thought I could help."

"But, what? You couldn't?"

Kyle shakes his head. "No, I couldn't."

"Huh. Well, I'll see you soon, 'Flovski. Stay safe."

"You too," Kyle says, and he's left looking at himself on screen once Dalton hangs up. He partially closes his laptop and sits back for a moment, taking in deep breaths. He wishes none of this ever happened. He's much rather stew in his regrets than be forced to confront them.

"You alright?" the woman next to him asks. She's paused her music and pulled one headphone off, and she's looking at him worriedly.

Kyle pulls an earbud out. "Sorry, what?"

"Are you alright?"

"Oh." He looks down. Might as well be honest. "No. Not really."

She gives him a sympathetic look, but doesn't seem too invested in consoling him, because she puts her music on again and looks back down at her corny romance novel.

Kyle thinks that must be some kind of metaphor. He laughs to himself and opens his laptop again.

As promised, Garcia's contact information is in his email. He promptly Skypes her.

She answers quickly, and Kyle gets his first good look at her. She's a portly blonde woman, and, by her outfit and office decor, a rather eccentric one, at that. Kyle can only see from her shoulders up, but she seems to be wearing a colorful floral pink and green blouse, and atop her curled hair is a bright green flower hairpiece. Kyle finds himself wondering how this colorful creature is on the same team as the professionally drab FBI-bots he's met during this investigation.

She squints at him through sparkly pink-rimmed glasses. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, Agent Garcia. This is Kyle Broflovski speaking," he says, keeping his voice low. "Do you remember me?"

She sits back. "Oh, yeah, oh, I'm sorry! About the other day-"

"It's fine," he says quickly. "I was actually wondering if you can look into an Elijah Jefferson for me."

"Hmm?" She leans forward. "Sorry, sir, why are you whispering?"

"I'm on a plane," he says, rather loudly. The old lady glares at him again. Headphones girl doesn't move.

"Oh," Garcia says. "Sorry. You wanna talk to me through typing?"

 **Good idea** , he writes. 

Garcia smiles. "Okay. Yeah, I can look into him. Why exactly?"

He used to be somewhat of a computer nerd, so he's a rather fast typer. It's fortunate, too; he's impatient.  **He's part of the case. Just a general overview on him please.**

She starts typing. Then begins rattling off: "Elijah Joshua Jefferson. He has a Hebrew name...Eliyahu Yosef? Am I pronouncing that right?"

 **Yes** , Kyle writes, even though she's not. A Hebrew name usually indicates a family is either conservative or orthodox, which Kyle takes note of. So Eli was a sweet, sheltered little Jew, probably closeted, who grew up to be a lawyer just like Mommy and Daddy wanted - and then he met Cartman, with all his complexity and charm and allure, and it all went out the window. 

Kyle smiles a little, suddenly feeling strangely nostalgic. He was raised modern Orthodox, although his parents were horrible at celebrating the holidays as they should have. They rarely even attended their synagogue - possibly because the closest one was in Denver. Kyle had, however, been given a Hebrew name, although he hated it. It was Moshe Shevach - Moshe for Sheila's great-grandpa, and Shevach for Gerald's. The last time he'd been called it was at his bar mitzvah. Kenny, who'd showed up half-way through and left after giving a nice speech and eating as much as he could, had referred to him as "She-vack" for weeks. Cartman, of course, had referred to him as "Jewfag". Ironic, really, considering Kyle had coerced him into attending shul with him twice during their time together. Even more ironic considering Cartman later (grudgingly) admitted to Kyle he'd found the experiences fascinating. But that was a whole nother story.  

"Twenty-eight years old," Garcia continues. "Born in Lima, Ohio to a wealthy Jewish family; Dad's a doctor, Mom's an electrician. Has an older brother, Caleb, who's the black sheep of the family. Real troublemaker. He's living in...Michigan. Looks like he just got arrested for selling faulty car parts, back in March. He's been arrested thirteen times in the last fifteen years, and he's only thirty-four. Eli's been the one to bail him out the last eight times."

_Mommy and Daddy won't help him any more, so little brother flies out to._

**Can you cross-reference the days his bail was posted with the days of the murders?**

She nods and starts typing rapidly. "Only days that correspond was the very recent murder of Douglas O'Connell. He was in town for all of the others."

So, under the assumption that Eli was the killer, Dougie was a seperate thing entirely. Still, his hair color, religion, and connection to Cartman and Butters couldn't have been a coincidence.

_This is something much more complicated._

Suddenly, he realizes something. He types as fast as his fingers will go, resulting in some typos. **Can yiou pull up the date he got back in twn, versus the day Dougie was killed?**

"Uh huh. Gimme a sec." Kyle counts in his head while she types. Twenty-six seconds. "Okay, he got back two days ago, and according to the autopsy, Mr. O'Connell has been dead since Wednesday."

Three days.

**Can you pull up the records on Douglas O'Connell and find where he was last seen?**

Garcia begins to type, dutifully. "Uh, that'd be at home. His wife said he told her he was going out for a drink with a friend."

**She didn't identify the friend?**

Garcia shakes her head. "Apparently not, no."

Dougie probably had plenty of friends. There was no way of guaranteeing he knew Eli - or even that he still kept in contact with Butters.

**Have we contacted local bars to see which one served him?**

"Derek and Emily went to do that yesterday, I believe."

Kyle frowns and asks out loud, "Who?"

"Oh, sorry. Agents Morgan and Prentiss. You met them, I believe."

"Oh. Okay." Old Lady is staring at him. He ignores her. "Any hits?"

"A local pub said he came in with a blonde friend. Security footage shows they were there for two hours. The blonde friend seems a little agitated, but his face isn't visible. Want me to send you the footage?"

"That won't be necessary." Blonde friend - fucking Butters! Kyle purses his lips and resumes typing. **Any connections between Dougie O'Connell, Eli Jefferson, and Leopold Stotch?**

"Hmm." Garcia types rapidly and begins to read. "Nothing between Jefferson and O'Connell, but Stotch is a co-owner and investor in Cartman's Car Care, which Eli's lawfirm manages, and O'Connell was a frequent customer."

Kyle almost rolls his eyes at the mention of that ridiculous name. Of course Cartman would favor alliteration over a respectable name.

**What else is there on him?**

"Who?"

**Jefferson.**

"Oh, yes, hmm. Went to law school in California, minored in sociology. Moved to Colorado when he was twenty-five and set up a lawfirm there."

**Any arrests?**

"Squeaky clean."

 _Damn._ Kyle thinks for a moment. Did this kid have any skeletons in his closet? Maybe he'd had some odd jobs. **Did he work as a student?**

"Mm-hmm, he was a bartender at various bars along the California coast during his time in law school."

Kyle remembers Stan's words. **Including Santa Monica?**

"Yep."

That must have been how he meant Cartman. Speaking of which:  **Anything about his relationship with Eric Cartman?**

"Aside from their business partnership, no. Although Eli bailed Eric out on his public intoxication charge. Oh, and Eric bought a dog for Eli...three years ago."

**There's a record of that?**

"The shelter has a website that announces when an animal is adopted, and by who. It's on a first name basis, but I cross-checked the site's announcement with medical records, and Eric Cartman visited the local vet the same day." Garcia tilts her head. "Aw, it was a Russel Terrier named Scout."

Cartman hates dogs. He must really like this Eli kid if he actually paid for one to gift him. Vet trips are expensive, too. The selflessness was definitely out of character. Kyle frowns. **Any other vet records on Cartman?**

"He had a cat euthanized a few months ago."

"Damn," he says under his breath. The football watching was a lie, but maybe Snowball wasn't.

He tries to remember if Butters was a cat person. He owned hamsters as a kid, but he'd never shown any fondness of cats. Yet another thing Butters tolerated for Cartman's sake? He hesitates a moment, before typing, **Can you get me everything on Leopold Stotch?**

"Sure." Garcia tap-tap-taps on her keyboard, and Kyle waits anxiously. "Okay, Leopold Stotch, born September 11, 1983 in South Park, Colorado to Stephen and Linda Stotch, who... died in a joint-suicide eleven years ago." There's a pause, likely while she reads into that further. She purses her lips. "Leopold has been in therapy since, and he was checked into a mental health clinic three days after his parent's accident."

**Who checked him in?**

"Eric Cartman."

**Any records on that?**

"What do you mean?"

**His time in the clinic.**

"Oh, okay, yeah, doctors reports say he was an outstanding patient. He left after two weeks."

**Why was he checked in in the first place?**

Garcia dutifully begins to read. "'Loved one fears patient may be suicidal. Patient has been angry and moody since parent's recent deaths. Patient has physically lashed out toward significant other.'"

Kyle thinks of Stan's claim that he'd seen Cartman bruised up before. Something dawns on him just then.

It's such an exciting revelation that he forgets to type, and instead speaks out loud. "Garcia - when was he checked in?"

"Shh!" that damn old lady says.

Kyle, childishly, sticks his tongue out at her. She gawks at him. 

Garcia's laughing on the screen. She puts a hand over her mouth when he looks at her. 

"I'm sorry," she giggles. "He, um. He was checked in on August 19th, 2004."

Kyle cracks a smile. A glance to his left tells him the old lady has gone red in the face, but she's staring firmly at the TV. It's playing Moneyball. Not exactly an old lady movie. He types again: **When was Eric Cartman's domestic abuse arrest?**

"September 11th, 2004. Which would be Stotch's twenty-first birthday, if that means anything."

"Thank you, Garcia," he tells her. "Much appreciated."

Garcia nods and smiles at him, and he hangs up.

Kyle sits back, closes his eyes, and tries to take a deep breath. His stomach feels heavy, his chest feels tight, and his mind feels electric. Anxiety. He'd forgotten how horrible it feels to be overwhelmed. 

Fortunately, his exhaustion overpowers his unease, and he must somehow manage to fall asleep, because suddenly, someone's nudging him awake. He opens his eyes and blearily looks around, and it's his neighbour, the headphones girl. The old lady is busy gathering her things, but she still looks like she's been sucking on a lemon. "Plane's landing," Headphones says briskly.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing at his eyes. He hates naps like that, because of how disoriented he feels after. According to his phone, it's 7:17 pm. A glance out the windows tells him it's dark out.

For a moment, he's lost. Where is he? Why is he on a plane?

Then it all comes back. South Park. Cartman. Elijah Jefferson. Butters. Murders. Kidnapping. Cartman.

He gets up. Fuck. Stan.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, turns off airplane mode, and goes to dial him.

Three missed calls. Shit. He holds his breath while the phone rings.

Stan answers immediately. "Kyle?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Kyle stands, grabbing his water bottle and his suit jacket. He wonders if Stan's still mad, but he's also more concerned about Cartman's life than Stan's feelings at the moment. 

"Your plane just landed?"

"Yeah, getting off now." Kyle slips into the flow of people and lets himself mindlessly follows the crowd while he focuses on talking to Stan. "Anything new?"

"Cartman's shop is on fire. We just got the call, firefighters are headed there now, and we're on our way, too. See if anyone saw who did it."

Kyle bites his lip. Either it was a distraction, or a form of torture for Cartman. And Butters, maybe. He had co-owned the shop, after all. "You still think it's Eli?"

"Yeah. We're hoping someone saw."

"What, and you think he made Cartman watch him burn his pride and joy down?"

"We're sure of it." Stan must still be a little mad; his tone's too sharp. Or he's just in save-the-day mode. They're not close enough for Kyle to tell.

"Or he's trying to distract you guys. Lead you on the wrong track."

"No," Stan says firmly. "This was to hurt Cartman."

"Okay," Kyle says, since there's no use arguing, although he's still doubtful. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, we were just at his place."

"Any sign of Cartman?"

"Not physically, but he's got a weird shrine of him, and he's got one of you, too. Pictures, newspaper clippings, Facebook profiles. Both of your faces are crossed out or circled on everything. Serious freak shit. I'll send you pictures. It's totally him, dude. We just gotta locate where he's holding Cartman and Butters."

"Damn," Kyle says. So it really was Eli. Stan was right; Eli must have found out about Kyle just prior to the first murder, and that had been the stressor. The pieces fit.

But it still bothered Kyle - where was his place in all this? Was Eli trying to lure him in? Was Kyle the end game, and not Cartman?

Stan's on the same page. "Kyle, listen. I know we left on a sour note, but I don't want you getting hurt. I think Eli is after you. So I don't want you getting anywhere near this, okay? If you want, you can be there for Cartman after we find him, but you're not permitted to enter any places of interest until Eli has been arrested. Do you understand?"

"You and I both know that's not gonna happen. This is my case, Stan."

"I know you and your pride, Kyle, but I'm telling you, it's not fucking worth it. I don't want to lose three friends. If you run into this headfirst, Eli gets his way, and you might end up dead, just like Dougie and Hunter. I'm not gonna let that happen."

"That's not up for you to decide."

Stan's voice takes on the tone he probably uses one he disciplines his kids. "I'm your superior on this case. You need to listen to me. You go to South Park station and stay there. Understand?"

"No," Kyle says, and he hangs up and pockets his phone. It buzzes several times over the next ten minutes, but he ignores it.

He has to go to the baggage claim for his carry-on - it's got two spare suits, some boxers, and his tooth brush, just the necessities, but damn, it's a pain. Before he left Mexico, he paid for another week at his hotel and left his vacation bags in his room, under the impression that he would either resume his vacation once this was finished, or have them shipped back to New York. Now he's thinking he should've came with nothing but the clothes on his back.

He gets outside, appreciative of the cool summer air, and waves down a cab. "South Park, fast as you can, please."

"Fast as the law will let me, sir," the cabbie tells him.

"Thanks."

He still has the case files in his bag, so he pulls them out and sets the folder on his lap.

"Do you mind if I put the light on back here?" he asks the driver.

"Sure, man," the guy says.

Kyle puts the overhead light on and opens up the folder.

It's got about two dozen papers in it, including a file on each victim. They're organized in chronological order by the date of their deaths, so the first one Kyle opens to is Hunter's.

Kyle scans over it. Notes that he was only seventeen. 5'8. 135 pounds. Red hair, brown eyes. Birthday: March 25th. Killed on the night of July 4th, 2013, body found on July 6th, 2013. He was intoxicated at the time of his death.

So Hunter and the unsub - Eli, apparently - potentially met at a Fourth of July party? There was always a party at Starks Pond on the fourth. Eli would have been around twenty-six - still young enough to get into what was probably a high school party. Maybe he bought his way in by bringing booze. That made sense. Maybe he seduced Hunter, who was probably virginal and desperate, and the boy went willingly, excited to be propositioned by an older man. Maybe he lead him away from the party, buttered him up, then strangled him in cold blood.

"You some kind of businessman?" the cabbie asks. His words snap Kyle out of his thoughts, and he looks up.

"What?" he asks. 

The guy is watching him curiously through his mirror. He's a black guy, a little younger than Kyle, with a Denver Broncos ball cap on and an easy nature to him. He laughs a little and repeats the question.

"Yeah," Kyle says simply, squinting down at his files, because he doesn't want to get into the whole FBI deal. People ask too many questions, and he always feels like he's boasting. This way, the guy will get bored fast. Kyle can handle small talk, just not an interrogation. "Heading out to meet a client."

"Nice, man. I see you're busy, so I'll leave ya be."

"Thanks," Kyle says, turning the page. Dougie's not in here, since these files are now outdated, but they should be sufficient enough.

There's a file on Cartman, too, right after the second to last victim, who was a twenty-three year old construction worker named Tony Capozzoli ( _An Italian ginger?_ Kyle thinks to himself). It's the basics. Age, height, the standard information, as well as his arrests, his past relationships, the works. Stuff Kyle already knows.

He checks the day Liane died. April 6, 2013. Three months before the first murder. Maybe, in the midst of all his grieving, Cartman had fessed up to the fact that Eli was just a replacement Kyle? That would have set him off. But why wait three months? Was he gathering information on Kyle? Obsessing over him? Or was Kyle overestimating his importance? Maybe he wasn't even a pawn in this game at all. Maybe Eli hated himself, and was killing men who resembled _him_ , not Kyle. 

Kyle squeezes his eyes shut. It's all too much. Never before has a case been so overwhelming. He's worked on far more complicated investigations, so it's not that this one is too difficult to solve, it's just that it feels so damn personal. The shell he's built has been to protect himself is crumbling, and he hates it.

He opens his eyes and stares blankly at the file again, uncomprehending. His unfocused eyes find the picture in the top right corner. It's a mugshot, taken from his most recent apprehension. The photo was taken days before Kyle first saw him, so Cartman's soft-faced and smiling, because he's the type of sarcastic ass who smiles in a mugshot. 

Kyle touches his fingers lightly to the photo. There's something cold in his chest; a suffocating fear that they won't make it in time. He's lived without Cartman for nearly two decades, but somehow the idea of really truly losing him makes his heart ache. He isn't sure what to do with that, so he looks away from the picture and scans over the words again, in an attempt to distract himself. 

Something at the very bottom catches his attention and makes his stomach twist.

Suspect E. Cartman was apprehended as a suspect in the murders of the previously mentioned men on June 21st, 2015 at Stark's Pond in South Park, Colorado, while having lunch with his significant other, Leopold Stotch.

There it was again. Stark's Pond! It had been a detrimental part of this crime from the start. That's where all the bodies were found, but even before that, that's where Kyle and Cartman had shared so many memorable moments.

More importantly, if Kyle remembers right, that's where Butters and Cartman had gotten back together the second time.

Then Kyle has a confusing thought: _South Park wouldn't be important to Eli. Denver would, or Santa Monica. Cartman wouldn't have any reason to bring him there, considering they were having an affair, and South Park was such a small, gossipy town. He's probably never even been to Stark's Pond._

He calls Stan up.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?" Kyle ignores the cabbie's inquisitive staring. It's hard not to easedrop when you're in a car with someone.

"We found the restaurant where Cartman and Eli had their first date at. It's now an abandoned building. We're hoping they're there." By the background noise, he's in a car with several other people.

"You're going there now?"

"Yeah, me and the BAU. You're headed to the station, right?"

Kyle bites his lip. "How far are you away from South Park?"

"Forty minutes. The average drive to Denver. You know this, dude. Why?"

Before he can think better of it, Kyle says, "Stan, they're at Stark's Pond."

"Huh?"

"They went to Stark's Pond."

"Kyle, you need to stop. Go to the station and let us handle this. Eli's never even been to Stark's Pond. He probably only used the forest around it for dumping the bodies to scare us. Besides, where would they hide? It's only eight, there's still people out and about. They'd be seen."

"I'm going there."

"Kyle, fucking stay aw-"

Kyle hangs up on him again. He leans forward. "Excuse me, uh-" he checks the name card. "Robert? Can you drive a little faster, please?"

"Yeah," Robert the cab driver says, "but you're paying if I get a ticket."

"Fine by me," Kyle tells him.

* * *

The road to South Park is mostly empty, and Robert's going ninety on a sixty-five mph speed limit, so they reach South Park in fifteen minutes. Kyle shakes his foot the entire time. As soon as Robert reaches what was once Token's house, which marks the start of South Park, Kyle says, "Right here! Thanks so much."

He hops out and hands him the money through the window; sixty for the fee, fifty for the tip.

"Damn, thanks," Robert grins, counting the cash.

"Yeah," Kyle says, already taking off on foot, travel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Robert yells after him. "Stay safe, Mr. Probably-Not-A-Business-Man!"

* * *

It takes ten minutes to reach Stark's Pond on foot. He settles into a jog about two in, because he's already tired, and he needs to be completely prepared for a showdown.

No one's out at this time of night, thankfully, but the drunkards hanging around Skeeter's Bar holler at him as he passes. He ignores them, focusing on the glimmer of the pond he can already see.

As he nears it, he starts to think. Stan did raise an excellent point: how could you hide two kidnapped men in the middle of a popular scenic spot?

In plain sight? He hasn't seen Stark's Pond in years. What was there? Trees and a big puddle of water. A couple of benches. That was it.

_Wait. Oh, shit. The boat house._

A year or two before he'd left, some rich guy who'd recently moved to town built a type of shed to house his canoes. By popular demand, he'd expanded it, and rented it out to those who wanted to use it.

It was definitely big enough to hold two kidnapped men. Not very private, but maybe it was abandoned and decrepit now, and people kept their distance.

Nearing the pond, Kyle stops and begins to take in his surroundings. It's dark, since there's no buildings around, and moonlight's the only light. It's enough, but not for Kyle.

His gun is equipped with a flashlight, so he pulls it out, checks that the safety is on, and uses it to take a look around.

Just as he remembers, there's a small building on the far side of the pond. It's roughly the same size as it was sixteen years ago, large enough to fit a motor boat or two, but Kyle can't yet see what condition it's in.

There's two teenagers making out on a bench about twenty feet to his left. _What was it about a dirty little pond that made teens so horny?_

"Wow," the guy says, peeking over the girl on his lap's shoulder to look at him, "is that a pistol?"

"Go home," Kyle says gruffly.

"Holy shit," the girl says, climbing off her boytoy's lap. "Greg, holy shit." She puts her hands up.

"I'm a cop," Kyle says. "Get out of here now."

"Is there, like, a killer here?" Greg asks, wide-eyed.

"Go!"

The girl, thankfully, doesn't think twice. She grabs her boyfriend's hand and takes off.

Kyle heads toward the boathouse, flicking the safety on the gun off. He keeps his finger on the trigger as he approaches.

The boat house isn't in bad condition, but a sign on the door that says  **OUT OF SERVICE** leads Kyle to believe it hasn't been used in a while. There's a padlock on the door, a big one, and a hefty tug at the chains tell Kyle they haven't recently been cut. He'd need bolt cutters to get those off, and he doesn't have time to find some.

Kyle creeps around the back, eyeing the wood, looking for cracks, holes, anything. On the left side, he sees a fairly large piece of warped looking wood. He kicks lightly at it with his boot, and his heart leaps when it bows in.

He crouches and pushes lightly at it, and the piece falls in and collapses loudly on a concrete floor, sending dust flying. Kyle shines his light in, but the hole opens into a small compartment, the size of a one-person elevator. A closet, maybe? There's a door to the left, which is large, metal, and rusted. Kyle crawls in and replaces the trick piece of wood, then stands, gun in hand. He shines the light down; there's drag marks, and foot prints, in the dust.

He regards the door again, which is cracked open. There's no light on the other side. Kyle puts a hand on the door knob, takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

He's ready for anything, but nothing's there to meet him. There's two canoes, a paddle boat, and a sailboat on a trailer. Peculiar, considering the sign out front. The rest of the building is empty.

The sailboat, which is maybe twenty-five feet long and almost too big to fit in here, is covered in a few dusty sheets. Its mast has been folded down, to fit it inside the squatty boat house.

Kyle edges toward it. His boots scuff up dust with every step. The particles flying up are aglow, and he holds his breath and eyes the ones that come close to his face. The foot steps and drag marks are here, too, only clearer. One set of drag marks is larger than the other.

They're here.

He stops to peer inside the canoes and paddle boat. Nothing worth noting, although they're covered in spider webs. Abandoned, perhaps?

Kyle reaches the sailboat and hops up onto the trailer, wincing at the sound of his shoes on the metal, then tucks his gun away while he climbs the ladder up the boat with both hands. At the second to last rung, he gets his gun out again and pulls himself up, anticipating a surprise.

Nothing.

He clambers onto the deck, heart in his throat. There's a hatch that must lead down into the living space. It's open and there's light coming from inside.

Kyle drops down as quietly as he can. He still lands heavily, on the other side of a glaringly happy looking yellow-and-pink curtain. He holds his breath and listens.

Quiet singing, maybe. That's what it sounds like. 

Gun at ready, he throws the curtain open.

There's Cartman, tied up in a chair that's wedged between the empty table and blood-splattered couch. He's freshly shaved, but looks like he's been living on the street for a week. His face is smudged with dirt, and his bare arms are speckled with bruises. He's in a nice blue dress-shirt, but it's filthy with blood and dirt, and his tan dress slacks are no better.

"Cartman?" Kyle asks softly, creeping toward him, gun at ready. Behind Cartman, there's a small bed with a bloody sheet on top. Beneath the sheet is something that's shaped like a body. It looks slender; could be Butters or Eli, who was probably a skinny guy, since he supposedly closely resembled Kyle.

Cartman looks up and smiles weakly, looking over him. The singing's stopped, so Kyle deduces it must have been Cartman keeping himself entertained. "Oh, look, my knight in polyester armor," he jokes weakly. "Honestly, Kahl, does the suit ever come off? Is it a second skin?"

"It's all I packed," Kyle answers quietly, kneeling to undo his bonds. "Where's Butters and Eli?"

His answer comes just then, from behind him: "Well, hey there, Kyle!"


	7. Slow Dancing Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's lost control, yeah, but he'll get the upper hand soon enough, if he's clever. If he uses his training and experience. He's done this for the better half of a decade and he hasn't died yet - he can handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Last official chapter. And posted exactly a year after the very first chapter was posted! Pretty dope. Took me five months to write, and three straight days of intense editing (I am tired), but it's worth it to finally get to share it.
> 
> There's gonna an epilogue, but this is the official end, I suppose. Wow. I'm honestly really proud of myself. This was such a journey. I'll blab a little more about that in the end notes, because I'm sure you're impatient to read the fic, but I'm just really happy with this fic right now.
> 
> It was hard to write a confrontation scene that wasn't cliche, but hopefully this chapter answered all unanswered questions and wrapped things up cleanly in a somewhat original way. In all honestly, I didn't have a lot of this planned out - I just kind of let things fall into place as I wrote. This chapter was fun for me, because everything sorta began to make sense. Stuff connected, and it was pretty satisfying. So I hope you enjoy, and thanks for sticking around.
> 
> Some warnings for this chapter: violence, mentions of ephebophilia (attraction to teenagers, sexual relations between a teen and an adult, basically mentions of an underage relationship), strangulation, a dead bloody dude, discussions of murder and rape, attempted murder, & Cartman, once again, throwing around homophobic and ableist slurs, and being an antisemitic weenie.

Kyle turns, heart in his throat and finger on the trigger of his gun.

Butters stands in front of the curtain, blocking the way out. He's smiling, his usual friendly grin, but the deranged look in his eyes adds something deadly to it. He's got something square shaped in his left hand. His jeans are speckled with blood and dirt, and his shirt and face are no better.

It's immature, but the first thing Kyle thinks is, _I fucking knew it!_

Now is definitely not the time to gloat about how he was right and Stan wasn't.

"Butters," he says, as gently but firmly as he can, "things have gotten out of hand. This doesn't have to end badly."

"It's not gonna," Butters says, cheerily. He points behind Kyle. Kyle doesn't dare look; just keeps his eyes on Butters' face. "You, me, an' Eric are just gonna have a nice little chat, that's all."

"What are we gonna talk about?" he asks warily. Kyle's regretting his impulsive decision to come here without backup. He can't tell what's in Butters' hand, but he knows it's not good. More than that, he's not the best at crisis negotiation. There's a woman on his team, an Agent Ortega, who's excellent at it, and she's usually sent in first. This is definitely not his comfort zone. But he can handle it - or so he's trying to convince himself. Butters seems calm enough, for the time being, and Kyle hopes he can keep it that way.

But then Butters says, "Give me your gun."

It's so straight-forward and assertive that Kyle gawks briefly. This isn't Butters, he tells himself. This is someone else. There's no evidence to suggest an disassociative identity, but it's clear Kyle's dealing with an extremely unpredictable individual, and this is therefore so much more dangerous than he'd anticipated. He'd been relying on his knowledge about Butters as a person, how he thought and who he was - now he's at a loss.

"Are you fucking deaf?" Cartman says loudly, from behind him. "Give him the gun, Kahl! He's got a goddamn detonator in his hand, he's gonna blow us the fuck up if you don't!"

So it was a detonator. That was new. Explosives had never been utilized in the crimes prior. Did he learn how to make one just for this moment? Impressive. Kyle doesn't know much about cars, but he's sure there's ways to make bombs out of the parts. He's guessing that's what Butters did. He might've gone black market, but that's doubtful.

Kyle decides to take his chances - to see how far he can push Butters. He figures he's probably not against killing himself in the process of killing the two of them, but Kyle knows he won't until he's said what he wants to say. Everybody wants to give their big final speech. The goal is to distract him until then. He has to stall. An explosive death won't be very fun.

So he lifts his gun higher; points it at Butters' face, rather than his chest. It's not protocol; it's a scare tactic. "I knew you were behind this."

He hears Cartman's exasperated sigh, but he stays focused on Butters.

"Hand me the gun," the blonde repeats, calmly, stretching out a hand.

Kyle shakes his head, keeping his gun leveled between Butters' eyes. "I'm the missing piece in all of this, aren't I? All those innocent men you killed, boys in some cases - you did all that, just to lure me back to South Park. Just to hurt me. And to hurt Cartman by hurting me. Right?"

"Kahl, fucking shut up," Cartman tells him. Kyle still doesn't turn to look at him; he watches Butters while he listens. Butters is looking at Cartman, his jaw tense. "You always think every fucking thing's about you. It's about me and Butters, ass hat."

Kyle decides to fan the flames a bit. If an argument breaks out, it'll definitely buy some time for Stan and the other agents to there. He keeps the gun trained on Butters, but throws back, "Well, maybe if you didn't cheat on your boyfriend with men who resembled your ex, you wouldn't be tied to a chair right now."

"That's not of your business! Stay the hell out of our shit, Kahl!"

"Eric, shut your goddamn mouth," Butters says. He looks at Kyle again, and there's an intensity to him that's disorienting. Kyle's looked in the eyes of murderers before, countless times, in fact, but it's infinitely different to look at someone who you remembered as a friend, who you know to be a killer. There's a dark energy radiating from this unfamiliar Butters; a violent hatred, so heavy it's tangible, and it makes Kyle's skin prickle. Still, despite his clear abhorrence of the men in front of him, Butters keeps his voice level when he asks Kyle, "Do you know what it's like to be second choice?"

Kyle does, but his training tells him he doesn't. He shakes his head. _Let them feel special._

"Verbal answer, Kyle!" Butters shrills, his cool demeanor gone out the window. He lifts the detonator threateningly.

Kyle eyes it. "No, I don't," he says carefully.

"Of course you don't! You were always the winner! First pick!" Butters frowns and shakes his head. "You weren't even supposed to come here. Of course you had to make everything about you!"

This actually surprises Kyle. "It's not about me?" he asks, genuinely confused, although he tries to come across as indifferent. He'd embedded, admittedly, to the idea that he'd been essential to this whole thing. The idea that he'd misinterpreted everything is disconcerting. 

"Of course it's not, dickbag," Cartman says, and in any other setting Kyle would resent the insulting names. Here, Cartman's hostility feels strangely grounding and familiar. "It's about fucking Eli, that dickriding cocksucking son of a bitch."

"We're all guilty of sins," Butters says simply. Kyle's not sure if it's an overtly religious statement, or just an observational one.

"What happened to Eli?" he asks. "Is he under that sheet back there?" Kyle jerks his head toward the stern of the boat.

"What?" Butters frowns, leaning to look, like he'd forgotten. "Oh, that? Nah, that's someone else. Some homeless fella who was staying in here. He's not important."

"Where's Eli, then?" Kyle tries again. He's not sure if he's relieved or not. Considering the blood, Butters had clearly deviated from his usual strangulation method in favor of something more penetrative - for convenience sake, surely. This man wasn't an intended victim; he'd just been unfortunate enough to get in the way. Kyle only hopes Butters hadn't forced Cartman to do it. That'd be an absolute legal fiasco. If they even survive this ordeal, of course. He needs to stay in the present.

"Dead," Cartman answers, tone clipped. Kyle keeps the gun trained on Butters, but risks a glance back. Cartman's face is dark, clouded with an array of emotions. "Fucker's in the ground."

"Kyle," Butters says suddenly, and when Kyle looks at him, there's a darkness to him, reminiscent of a character in a Kubrick or Hitchcock film. It's replaced the anger, which inspires a different kind of fear out of Kyle - he's suddenly and inexplicably less afraid of what Butters may do, and more afraid of what he won't. Butters smiles. "Do you remember back in high school, when you were on the swim team?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. He'd forgotten about that. Yes - he had been fairly athletic in those years. He'd been on the swim team, the basketball team, and he'd tried his hand at cross country and archery. But only when his health allowed him to, of course. Aside from his athletic endeavors, he'd also done journalism, out of fear of being labeled a simple jock, and a love of investigative writing. Cartman had been in his class during freshman year, because he was into photography, but he'd changed classes after he found out the teacher was "creatively stifling".

Butters was a thespian, and halfway through their first year of high school, and after a lot of convincing, Cartman had joined him in his theatre troupe - they'd both been teased about it immensely. In their first stint as a couple, they'd somehow commandeered Romeo and Juliet, and opted to modernize it, à la the 1996 film, which, at the time, was fairly new and hugely popular amongst the theatre nerds. Controversially, they'd convinced their teacher to allow them to turn the classic tale into a gay love story, and taken the roles of the protagonists for themselves. It'd been a huge scandal - not quite as infamous as the Stark's Pond deal a few years later, but close - and had unintentionally lead to their outing, resulting in Stephen Stotch's Cartman Ban. 

After that, and once Cartman and Kyle became a couple, the two of them often went to each other's games or performances, to show support. Kyle remembers one incident, when Cartman cajoled Mrs. Lynch into having them do Fiddler on the Roof, rather than West Side Story, in an attempt to impress Kyle. He'd nabbed the part of Lazar Wolf, just because he "had a cool name". Butters, who was apparently one of the best young actors in the class, had played several minor characters, due to his "versatility", but Kyle now recalls that he hadn't given the performance his all. He'd never considered that Butters might've been upset about being made to participate in what was practically a confession of love for his ex's new boyfriend. 

That Butters was young and meek and naive. The one that stands before Kyle now has had time to dwell on his misfortunes, culminating in an angry, violent little man, who's lifting the detonator and smiling deviously. "How long can you hold your breath?"

Kyle doesn't have time to stop him from pressing the button, or even register what he's just been asked, but he acts on instinct rather than reason immediately after, by lowering the gun just slightly and pulling the trigger. Butters screams as the bullet goes through his shoulder, dropping the detonator so he can cup his wound, and Kyle stares at him firmly and watches him yell, feeling some satisfaction. He vaguely hopes Butters will look up at him, so that the last sight he'll see before they're blown to bits is Kyle's vengeful face. If he's failed, then goddamnit, he will go out with this small victory. 

But to his surprise, there's no fiery explosion. No - it's gaseous. Kyle instantly holds his breath and pulls his dress shirt over his mouth and nose, untucking it in the process. He looks at Cartman, who's already been affected and now sits slumped in his chair, unconscious. Then he looks back at Butters, who's miraculously disappeared, leaving nothing but some blood on the floor. Out of the boat, no doubt. Kyle goes to follow, but finds the hatch has been locked. He pushes at it with all his weight, but it's no use.

He can hold his breath for about two minutes, but that's only if he's staying still. His lungs are already starting to burn from wrestling to get the door unlatched.

He tries the windows, kicks at them with all his strength if he's able to. Most won't open, but one budges, just barely, and he presses his face against the small gap, trying to breathe in the musky but nontoxic air of the shed. He pushes at it with both hands, trying to open it enough to possibly crawl out - it's not quite big enough, but it's worth a shot - or at least to evacuate the gas. He's able to get it nearly completely open, and he pushes his head through and sucks in air, looking around for any sign of Butters.

Something blunt, potentially an elbow, smacks him straight in the nose, hard enough to knock him backwards. He falls to the ground, and, in his shock, inhales. Though he'd hoped the gas would dissipate if he waited long enough, that plan proves futile, and what's left in the air knocks him out cold.

* * *

He comes to at the feeling of being kicked in the shins. He opens his eyes and blearily looks around, trying to figure out where the fuck he is. Tied to a chair, he gathers. Inside a sailboat. It smells of musk and misery.

_Oh._

"Jew," Cartman's whispering, from where he's tied up about two feet away from him. He's facing him, so Kyle can see he's blindfolded, and he's also got a fresh split lip, either from them being chapped, or from a hit to the face. Probably the latter. "Jew. Hey. Wake the fuck up. Jew!"

"My name is Kyle, you piece of shit," Kyle spits, irritated at the audacity of Cartman, to begin with the antisemitism in a setting like this. He tests his bonds, and it takes a moment for it to dawn on him that Cartman's possibly doing it on purpose to rile him up, which is fairly ingenious, considering their situation. He needs to be energetic if he's going to make it out of this alive. He opens his mouth to ask where Butters is, but shuts it again when he hears the slam of a door from behind him.

"He's up!" Butters says brightly. Kyle twists his head to look at him, and locks eyes with once-bright blue ones. "About time!"

It's a tight space, so Butters has to squeeze between the chair holding his newest captive and the sailboat's couch to get between the two of them. He stands, facing Kyle with his back to Cartman, his hands on his hips, and regards the captured agent. He's bandaged his gunshot wound, and appears to be feeling fine. "I've been so excited for this day for so long, you have no idea. Now it's goin' exactly as planned!" He looks down at Kyle, a condescending gleam in his eyes, like Kyle's filth or something. Kyle clenches his fists, tugging at his wrist restraints, temper flaring for the first time in years. He's been bested, and nothing pisses him off more. "Actually, that's not true, 'cause I didn't intend for you to come to South Park, yanno. I was just gonna settle for Eli, but with the real thing here, why settle? This is so much better."

Cartman's kicking at the back of Butters' legs, so Butters silently goes behind him and pulls him backwards, with some effort because Cartman's undoubtedly heavily - farther from Kyle and closer to the body of the homeless man on the bed. The man's started to stink, and Kyle swallows down the bile in his throat. 

"Don't put me with the fuckin' dead dude, asshole!" Cartman yells, kicking wildly. 

"You shouldn't have kicked me," Butters says simply, like a parent who's had enough. He returns to his place in front of Kyle. Cartman's now about five feet away; not far, considering their limited space, but he certainly can't kick Butters from there.

"Butters, you're a piece of fucking shit," Cartman says, though he sounds almost annoyed, rather than legitimately angry. "I can't believe I wasted fifteen years on your psycho ass."

Something flashes on Butters' face. Kyle watches warily. Then the look dissolves into a rather grotesque grin, and he looks at Kyle again. "Isn't it funny, how love works? How it hurts people more than it makes them feel good? It just comes in, makes you feel all tingly and happy and warm for a minute, and then it stabs ya! Right in the heart! You know what I mean?"

Kyle stares at him. He hadn't considered that this was about _love_. Crimes of passion? How morbidly sappy. Did Butters kill because he _loved_ Cartman? Did he think that was a justifiable excuse for murder? Was he delusional enough to think he needed to slaughter any man who looked at Cartman in a way he deemed inappropriate, or vice versa? 

"Love doesn't exist," Cartman says dismissively from his corner. Time out or not, he seems intent on putting his captor down, which doesn't seem particularly smart to Kyle. "You and I happened because of convenience and passion, okay? We were dumb fucking kids, and we got stuck together. You just can't understand that 'cause you're fucking insane."

Kyle's surprised by and pretty damn concerned about his tone. He'd figured Cartman, who's usually crafty, would know how to talk his way out of a situation like this, rather than dig himself a deeper hole. He's not sure what exactly Butters' endgame is, or how he intends on executing it, but he knows provoking him isn't a good idea.

"Eric, I want you to shut the hell up," Butters says, turning to glare at him, and for a moment, Kyle feels like he's witnessing one of their lovers' quarrels. He's sure Cartman's rolling his eyes beneath his makeshift blindfold, which Kyle's fairly certain is made of a strip of a black t-shirt. Whose t-shirt, he's not sure.

"You're just mad because I'm right," Cartman says childishly.

Now, Butters stalks over to him, and Kyle's left to watch in quiet horror and hope Cartman doesn't provoke him into acting hastily. "No, I'm mad because you're ruining everything! Don't fuck this up for me, Eric!"

"You know what people care about, Butters? Money and sex. Those two things are the fucking meaning of life. Everybody's motivated by greed and lust. Am I wrong?"

"We're not doing your philosophy bullshit right now, Eric," Butters says sternly.

"Yes we the fuck are," Cartman retorts. "You're just pissed because I'm right! Because it applied to us, too! All we did was go to work and fuck, Butters, you know that! We ran that piece of shit shop and had mediocre sex! That's all we did for twelve fucking years!"

"It wasn't mediocre sex! We made love!"

"Oh, not the goddamn love-making shit again - you're fucking stupid!"

Cartman's buying time, Kyle realizes. Intentionally or not, he's distracting Butters, which is a damn good idea. Kyle takes it as an opportunity to look around; to access the situation. He tries to quiet his mind, which is loud with anxiety and fear and the sound of Cartman and Butters arguing. He's lost control, yeah, but he'll get the upper hand soon enough, if he's clever. If he uses his training and experience. He's done this for the better half of a decade and he hasn't died yet - he can handle this.

There's several windows, the same jammed ones from earlier, that he might be able to break open the second time around, if he's given more time and better resources - but that doesn't change the fact that they're still much too small to squeeze through. The hatch is the obvious answer, as far as an escape route goes, but Butters has undoubtedly locked it. The key is probably somewhere on his person, but Kyle's in no state to search him, given his current predicament. 

He looks down at himself. He's in a small dining chair, with only his arms and legs bound, not his torso. He leans forward, as nonchalantly as possible, and surveys his leg binds, looking for a way out of them. Unfortunately, it's a decent knot. All the victims were bound prior to their deaths - Butters must've gotten very good at tying them up over the last three years.

"And you killed every ginger guy I've ever talked to, you fucking psycho!" Cartman's yelling, voice going a bit shrill with rage. "Including my fucking lawyer! Who the fuck does that?"

"You flirted with them! In front of me! Who does  _that_?"

Fuck, at this rate, someone might hear them! Kyle strains in his chair, but the window is too high to see out of. He hopes the boathouse isn't sound-proof. It probably echos, given how empty it is. Hopefully those kids called the cops - Stan should be on his way, but just in case he isn't, Kyle hopes  _someone_  is. If Cartman keeps this up, they can bicker until the authorities arrive, which would be a blessing. Kyle sits back, resigning himself to the fact that he can't do anything for the time being, as there's no apparent way out that doesn't involve a miraculous rescue. He'll have to sit, useless, and focus on the drama, try to piece the story together, and hope help comes soon, and that Cartman's able to distract Butters for long enough.

"I'm chatty when I'm drunk!" is Cartman's answer to the accusation, and Kyle sees that Butters has pulled his blindfold down, so it hangs around Cartman's neck, leaving him free to glare as much as he wants. It makes him want to laugh, that Butters cared about making eye contact while arguing with the man he clearly resented enough to kidnap and kill. It reminded me of something himself and Cartman would've done, back in elementary school, when their rivalry was strongest. It's pretty pathetic, he thinks bitterly, that Butters and Cartman had stooped that low as adults. How sad that lives had been claimed as a result of their senseless immaturity. 

" _Chatty_ drunks don't stare at people's dicks!" Butters puts his hands on his hips and stands more firmly, blocking Kyle's view of Cartman, and he's left to stare at the back of the blonde man's dirtied shirt. There's an exit wound through his shoulder, which is pretty satisfying for Kyle.

Now, Cartman sounds almost defensive. Kyle wonders if they've had this discussion before, in a less hostile setting, or if it's the first time these things have been discussed. "Alcohol removes inhibitions! Maybe you should've self-reflected on that a little more! If I was staring at dicks while drunk, because I wanted to when I was sober, maybe it was 'cause yours wasn't good enough for me!"

"How would you know? You wouldn't come near it!"

"I wasn't the one who couldn't get it up unless I was hog-tied, you fucking weirdo!"

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up - he's taken aback by that one. So there was, ahem, a weird sexual component to all this. Reid had mentioned that, in his analysis of the unsub - that he'd likely viewed submitting in the bedroom in a negative light. Considering Cartman's loudly voicing his own preferences, were they not compatible on a venereal level? Was that one of the stressors - them being badly suited for each other sexually? 

Fuck, did this boil down to Butters feeling inadequate as a romantic and sexual partner? Was it as simple as that? Kyle feels some resentment build in his chest at the idea. They could've just gotten relationship counseling. Maybe set Butters up with a proper therapist. Instead people had been killed. It's one of the biggest issues he's faced as an FBI agent - he feels such strong abhorrence for those who kill needlessly. If you're going to commit murder, you may as well have a somewhat justifiable cause. Those who kill simply because they want to or because they can disgust him endlessly.

Kyle's jaw clenches as he glares at Butters' back, hating that he himself was partially to blame for the lives claimed, too.

Butters also seems a bit unsettled by the outburst. His hands drop to his sides, and his fists clench. His tone loses its edge when he speaks. "The doctors said that was because of my trauma," he says quietly.

"Trauma my ass! You're fucked up, Butters! I should've locked your ass up a long time ago!"

"Fuck you!" Butters screams, and it's chilling, the pure hatred in the two words. Kyle's never seen him so mad. His heart quickly begins to pound in his chest, every inch of his body telling him to run, to get the fuck out of there, even though his brain knows he's fucked. Cartman has to know he's putting them in jeopardy, right? The blonde screams again: "Fuck you, Eric! You can never take responsibility for the bullshit you do! You can't own up to being a huge piece of shit who ruins the lives of anyone who comes near you! It's you! Fuck you for saying it's me!"

"Says the sick fuck who murdered seven people? That's seven fucking families you tore apart! Eight, if you count us! How the fuck can you accuse me being a bad person when you're a motherfucking _serial killer_?"

"Because I wouldn't have done it if you were a better fucking partner!"

"Sorry I wasn't as supportive as you wanted, _honey_ , I was a little busy running a business and keeping us afloat."

"It wasn't that. There's rules that couples are supposed to stick to, and you didn't."

"Oh my God, is this about fucking Eli? Fuck's sake, I told you, it didn't even last that fucking long! I made a mistake one fucking time, and I apologized! What the fuck else do you want?"

Kyle frowns. Email correspondence between the two begged to differ - at least, according to Stan. He wonders absentmindedly if he'll ever learn the truth about what really happened. If they get out of here, maybe the lawyers and detectives will be able to conjure up a legitimate story and timeline, and Kyle will look into it, if only to satisfy his curiosity. He just wants to understand. 

"You loved him!" Butters is yelling. "You loved him, just like you loved Kyle, and you didn't love me! You never did!"

"Don't bring fucking Kyle into this, it's not about him!"

Kyle keeps his mouth shut, out of fear of reminding Butters that he had a macabre mission to accomplish, but hearing his name is a jarring reminder that he's in the middle of this; it's real. He looks down at his shoes - a birthday gift from someone on his team, an agent named Paul Lucchese, who'd noticed Kyle's old bluchers were getting pretty worn. Kyle wonders if he'll ever see Paul again, or Ortega, or Dalton. They were all he had these days. 

Fuck - would he ever see his apartment again? With its brick walls and cold tile floors? He's suddenly hit with homesickness at the thought of his snug living space's semi-obscured view of Manhattan, a city he'd come to view as home. He reminds himself to stay positive; Stan will arrive soon, and with him, sanctuary. He'll be back in New York in no time, and this will all be a distant memory. He'll go home and he'll get his shit together - he'll start dating again, he'll get a pet, he'll appreciate the sunsets more. He just has to wait. He can't do much else. 

Cartman and Butters are still arguing, which is a little anxiety-inducing, but it's better than the alternative of death. "What the fuck did I just say?" Cartman's hollering, loud enough that Kyle winces. Butters begin to pace, allowing Kyle to fully see Cartman's face, except when Butters crosses in front of him. It's gone red with the strain of his anger. "Literally three minutes ago, what did I tell you? Eli fucked better, that's all there was to it!"

"Bullshit!" Butters, who'd been rubbing his fists together like he'd done as a child, stops to point accusingly at Cartman. "You're lyin'!"

"How the fuck so? Everything I'm saying is the goddamn truth, and nothing but the truth. And, you know what else? Don't preach about adultery to me, you goddamn chickenhawk! Lest we not forget you fucked a teenager!"

This catches Kyle's attention. His eyes widen, and he glances at Butters. 

Surprisingly, there's remorse on his face. All the anger seems to drain from him, and he softly says, "We had shared interests. He was sweet."

"He was jailbait," Cartman says smugly, and Kyle sees the cold gleam in his eyes. It's clear that Cartman feels just as much animosity towards Butters as Butters does towards him. _Idiots should've just broken up years ago_. "We're both bad people, I'm not denying that, but at least I kept my dick out of children."

"Seventeen is not a child," Butters tells him firmly, but there's a tremble in his voice. "Fifteen is. And you know what happened to me w-when I was fifteen? You did, asshole! You made me suck you off at h-homecoming, and then you left me cryin' in the little boys' r-room!"

Kyle remembers that. Not the dick sucking part, but he remembers the two of them disappearing into the bathroom together, and Cartman returning alone and quickly leaving to go get stoned with Kenny. Kyle hadn't paid much mind to it at the time, but thinking back, he hadn't seen Butters until three days later, and he'd looked..darker. Like he'd lost his light.

"You ruined me," Butters says, regret in his voice and face. He sits on the couch, his posture one of a defeated man, but his tired appearance doesn't match the conviction in his voice. "You fucking destroyed me. Isn't it fair that I get to destroy you?"

"You're ridiculous," Cartman says, unsympathetic as ever. "Can I get a side of angst with that edginess? Oh shit, wait, not that much! I'm drowning in your tragedy, Hamlet!"

Kyle, who's been sitting silently, letting the anger build at the two of them for being so horribly petty, finally speaks: "Grow the hell up, Cartman! He's telling you why he did what he did, and you're too worried about defending yourself to listen!"

"I need to grow up? Fuck off, Kahl! You fucked up so badly with your friends here that you had to move across the fucking country to outrun your demons. Don't you _dare_ try to tell me how I'm a fuck up. Fucking kettle. You _bitch_. You need to stay out of our shit! This is between me and Butters. 'Cause apparently _I'm_ the bad guy, even though this dude" -he jerks his foot at Butters, who glares at him- "is the motherfucker who killed people and let me take the fall! Bitch at him, Kahl, not me!"

Butters crosses his arms, nonthreatening once more, and quietly asks, "Eric, why do you have to be so rude?" 

"You think I'm being rude? I'm tied to a fucking chair, I have every right to be rude! What the fuck are _you_ , you homicidal ass hat? Fucking courteous?"

"Grow up, Eric," Butters tells him. "I'm not gonna argue with someone who calls me names every five seconds. We're not kids anymore."

"Then why do you still act like a jealous teenager? We're fucking thirty, jackass! You murdered people because you're insecure, Butters, that's some angry teen bullshit right there! What are you, a school shooter? Got bullied once or twice so you decided the world has to pay?"

Kyle watches tensely as Butters gets to his feet and goes to stand over Cartman, so he can yell down at him, "I have every right to lash out! Look at what you did to me! You groomed me into your ideal partner! A slave! A damn droid! I read about this shit on the Internet, it's called gas-lighting! That's what you did to me! You made me feel useless, and weak, and pathetic. You made me feel dependent! I worshiped the ground you walked on and you just spit on me! You-"

He cuts off suddenly, at a noise - a small, tinny little banging. It happens again - **_clank_ ** \- and again - **_clink clack_**. Kyle frowns, trying to figure out what it could be. Then he realizes: those kids came back, and they're throwing rocks at the shed.

What little assholes. Little assholes who Kyle might end up owing his life to.

"What the hell!" Butters yells, turning around quickly and heading for the exit.

The moment he disappears up the hatch, Cartman's staring at Kyle and saying, "Do you have an iPhone?"

"What the hell does th-" then it clicks. Kyle's mouth falls open, but he quickly recovers and whispers, "Siri!"

His phone beeps from inside his pocket. It has a tracker on it, but that's not his concern right now.

"Siri," he says again, as calmly and clearly as he can, "call Stan using speakerphone."

There's a beat of silence, the tensest silence Kyle's ever felt. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. And then: "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

He can hear Butters shouting outside. He quickly but carefully repeats, "Siri, call Stan Marsh using speakerphone."

Another painful silence, and then faint dialing. Cartman lets out a shaky breath, and Kyle smiles at him. He's relieved Butters hadn't searched him for his phone, and also that he had Stan's number. 

"Hello?" Stan says.

"Stan!" he whisper-yells urgently. "I'm at Stark's Pond, Butters is the unsub, he's got me and Cartman tied up-"

"What? You sound like you're underwa-"

"Shut up!" Kyle hisses, at the sound of a loud bang that must've been the door of the boat-house. "Don't talk, just listen!"

Stan doesn't answer, so Kyle can only hope he didn't hang up and is listening intently on the other end, maybe even recording. Kyle gives Cartman a reassuring nod, and notices that he's got a band of perspiration around his forehead. 

He surprises himself by saying, "It'll be okay, Cartman." 

"Don't fuck things up," is Cartman's terse reply, and despite the seemingly belligerent words, Kyle finds himself smiling. Of course Cartman had a plan - Kyle was foolish to think he didn't. He learned years ago not to underestimate Eric Cartman.  

They look up as Butters rejoins them once more.

"Ah!" Cartman says loudly. "Look who's back."

"Shut the hell up," Butters says, and clearly something's shifted; there's now an urgency to his movements that wasn't there before. He approaches Cartman briskly and drops to his knees in front of him, and then he grabs at the bottom of his polo shirt and rips.

"Ay!" Cartman yells, trying to jerk away. "That's Gucci, asshole!"

"I know," Butters says harshly, tearing a strip free, leaving a portion of Cartman's skin on display. "I bought it for you. Four Christmases ago."

He stands and heads to the kitchenette, opening a drawer and rummaging around in it. He finds a roll of duct tape and returns to Cartman.

"Open," he says, and it's so utterly strange to hear him give orders in such a cold way. Kyle wonders if he took on this tone with the men he killed. He knows from experience that a killer's entire demeanor often changes when they're in a setting like this, versus on a normal day, and clearly that's what's happening here, but having an logical explanation doesn't make the strange behavior any less unsettling to witness.

"You're not gagging me," Cartman says, clearly in disbelief. "You're fucking insane."

"Open your mouth, Eric," Butters repeats, chillingly. "If I have to ask again, you'll - you're gonna regret it."

Kyle's wondering how Butters intends to punish Cartman, considering he's seemingly unarmed, but the threat seems to work well enough - fear seizes Cartman's face, and he tentatively obeys. Butters stuffs the balled-up piece of the shirt in and quickly tapes over his mouth. Cartman coughs a bit, and Butters laughs.

"How's that cologne, huh?" Butters asks him, sneering. He looks at Kyle and tells him, "I hate his cologne. I must be allergic to it or somethin'. Always makes me gag." Then he smiles. "Where were we, Kyle?"

"No where," Kyle says, keeping his voice loud, so that Stan can hear. "You need to give it up, Butters. You hurt us, and the FBI will blow you away the second they step through those doors."

"Who says they're comin'?" Butters goes behind him and rotates his chair, so that he's facing the couch rather than Cartman. The chair scraping on the wooden floor is a loud and obnoxious sound, so Kyle waits to speak until he's been moved fully.

"I do," he says, lifting his head to glare at Butters. He's in a tight spot, but he still has his dignity. "They're on their way this very second."

"They'll be too late," Butters says, and he starts to unbuckle his belt.

Kyle briefly has a flash of panic at the unpredictability. There's two ways this can go. Neither is good.

Then Butters pulls the belt free from the last loop and firmly straddles his lap, and Kyle knows.

He looks at Cartman, who's watching intently, brows furrowed. It's the first time Kyle's seen him look genuinely concerned.

He looks up at Butters, who's too close for comfort. His face is smeared with filth and blood, and the manic gleam in his eyes is even worse up close. "You're gonna kill me?"

"Uh huh. And Eric's gonna watch. Aren't you, Eric?"

Cartman's wide-eyed, but helpless.

Kyle's putting his faith in Stan. He decides to milk this. "Then tell me something. I wanna know, before you kill me, how."

"Huh?"

"How did you kill those men?"

Butters' brows pull together. "W-well, I did it because-"

"Not why. I know why. I wanna know how. How you went about it."

Butters hesitates. Then he stands, a bit awkwardly, belt still in hand, and takes a seat on the couch. He sets the belt down beside him and rubs his knuckles together, eyes downcast. The mood-swings are disorienting, but might just be the key to their survival. "Eric always looked at them," he mumbles. "Not at me. So I killed them. So he wouldn't look anymore."

That's telling, and he hopes Stan picked it up, but it's not what Kyle wants. "You're telling me why. I'm asking how."

"I used a belt, an' I strangled them," Butters says, brows furrowed. "I don't get what you're askin'."

"No, _how_. How could you do that?"

Now, Butters cracks a bit; it's a small break, but Kyle catches it. "They - he didn't love me. He loved you. And Eli. And every other fuckin' one of you."

Kyle wonders vaguely if Butters' rage is influenced by psychosis; if he genuinely sees Kyle's face when he sees anyone who looks like him. He tilts his head. "I didn't know ginger Jews were that common."

Butters snorts. "I didn't either, but Eric found 'em." His face and tone grow bitter. "He went to a gym that was across from a synagogue. It took me a while to figure out why he didn't have a membership."

Kyle glances at Cartman, who's trying to talk through the gag. Still feeling the need to defend himself, of course. He looks back at Butters. "He was cruising?"

"He was _longing_ ," Butters spits. "Eric's fucking delusional - he saw you in them. He went once, you know. Sat his queer neo-Nazi ass down in a sacred Jewish place and tried to seduce a married man." Butters grins suddenly - even giggles a little. It's the same laugh he had as a teen, which is pretty fucking disturbing. "Funny, since he didn't struggle much with me."

Kyle looks at Cartman again, lips pursed. So he had been unfaithful, and multiple times. "Why didn't you ever mention it to him?"

"Because Eric is a good liar," Butters says, "and I believed him. Until I didn't."

"You fooled me," Kyle says, because he has an idea. He really hopes Stan's catching all this, and he especially hopes he's recording. This is essentially a confession tape. "You fooled everyone. We didn't know. We thought it was Cartman. Then we thought it was Eli."

"Eli?" Butters laughs. "That useless Midwestern bitch couldn't dream of pullin' off what I did! He could barely handle Eric's dick - how was he supposed to handle taking a life? Let alone several?"

Kyle blinks. He was aware that Butters knew about Eli, but this sounds like he and Cartman had discussed the whole thing in depth. "You - he told you about the affair?"

"Of course he did," he scoffs. "I put the pieces together, I confronted him, an' he told me everything."

"But you didn't tell _him_ everything."

Butters shakes his head, grinning deviously. "If Eric got to keep secrets, why couldn't I?" But suddenly his expression goes sad. "But I, uh - well, I fell in love. With someone else. I didn't - that wasn't supposed to happen."

Kyle checks Cartman's reaction. He's gone silent and he's got his eyes closed - his express is borderline unreadable. He looks to Butters. "Who was it?"

Butters looks flustered, fading into the neurotic kid Kyle once knew. He bites his lip. "W-well, it, uh, was this - this kid I met when - when Eric and I went to Stan's son's soccer game."

Kyle's eyes widen. Hunter Stoley? He'd been...Butters' lover?

Now, Kyle connects the dots fully. This was what Cartman had been referring to when he'd mentioned the whole chickenhawk deal. Kyle hadn't pieced it together then, but now it's clear.

Butters had begun a relationship with Hunter, around the time he found out about Cartman's affair. Clearly, not long after, Hunter had done something to upset him, which resulted in his patriotic and violent death. 

Kyle stares at Butters, incredulous. "That's how it started? You cheated because Cartman did?"

"Hunter wasn't Eric," Butters says cryptically.

Cartman shouts against his gag, alarming Kyle. A glance at the other man tells him he's gone a bit red in the face again, his eyes narrowed hatefully at Butters.

"If you were a little nicer, I wouldn't have cheated on you with a high schooler, huh, Eric?" Butters tells him harshly. He looks back to Kyle with sad eyes, switching to a more remorseful state, as if at the flip of a switch, and says, "He was the sweetest boy."

"You killed him," Kyle whispers. It's setting in, finally, just how disgusting Butters is. Kyle's always appalled by murderers, but this particular case has been so fast paced, it never quite sank in before now. Currently, it hits him; just how many lives Butters had stolen, and ruined, out of pure selfishness. "You used and killed a child. He had a life ahead of him!"

"He was gonna tell!" Butters squeezes his eyes shut. "I couldn't let him tell. I had to!"

"Then why'd you do it seven more times?" Ten, if his endgame is successful. Kyle prays Stan's close, but that's the last thing on his mind now that he's started uncovering the truth.

Butters lets out a shaky breath. "It was - well, I suppose it was therapeutic. Better than actual therapy ever was. It - it felt good. The next one, the next - the next fella, he was in front of me at the grocery store, in the checkout line. He talked to me about the weather, and I saw he had one of those little Jewish stars on, on a little gold chain. And Eric and I had just got in a fight over you, because he had that, that fucking picture again - and I just, I lost it. I took him home and I killed him."

Kyle frowns. "What picture?"

"When you two were together, he took this fucking picture of you - I've ripped it up twenty times, but he keeps copies."

Kyle looks at Cartman, who's now looking away, cheeks tinged red. "What's it of?"

"What do you fucking think?" Butters snaps. "You were all he ever thought about."

Cartman was a photographer, so he took a lot of pictures of Kyle when they were together - he can't remember a specifically intimate one, but he can imagine. "That's not my fault," he says. 

"You ruined it all," Butters hisses. "And now I can take you from him."

He gets off the couch and settles atop Kyle's lap with intent, wrapping the belt firmly around his throat, evil in his eyes, leaving Kyle to realize that this is the face those seven men last saw.

Then Cartman does something stupid, but simultaneously very, very clever.

With one heave, he knocks himself onto his back in the chair with a loud _**smack!**_

"Hey!" Butters shouts, climbing off Kyle again and tossing the belt to the ground. He clambers over the couch to kneel down beside Cartman, who Kyle realizes with a start doesn't appear to be breathing.

Kyle knows him. At least, he hopes he does. It's a ploy. Cartman's saving his ass. "He might've gone into shock. Or the gag was suffocating him. Does he have low blood pressure?"

"Shut up!" Butters yells, pressing his fingers to Cartman's neck. "His heart's still beating. He'll watch this, so help me God-"

Kyle prays it's all part of Cartman's elaborate scheme, and plays along: "He did love you, Butters."

"You wanna get gagged, too?" Butters is spitting with anger, but his fingers are gentle as he pets Cartman's hair and touches his face.

"He just didn't know how to show it."

"If he loved me, he wouldn't have been so obsessed with you!"

"Butters-"

"Don't call me that!"

"Cartman and I have always had some kind of weird chemistry. Cartman's never been in his right mind, and he - he embedded, okay? He latched onto me."

"He should've latched onto _me_ ," Butters says, ripping the tape off Cartman's mouth. The brunette doesn't budge, which prompts Kyle to fear that perhaps he's not acting.

"Yeah, he should've," Kyle agrees, trying to swallow down his rising hysteria.

Butters pulls the makeshift gag from Cartman's mouth and, expertly, begins to perform CPR. Perhaps he'd learn it through resuscitating his victims repeatedly, in order to kill them multiple times. Some killers were known to do that, though it seemed a little too extreme to be a part of Butters' M.O. Still, he was exhibiting some pretty hardcore sadism, so it was a frightening possibility.

Kyle watches tensely. He feels so horribly powerless. Stan is taking a lifetime - Kyle's beginning to grow concerned he won't make it in time. He wishes Butters would leave for a moment, so he'd have an opportunity to check that Stan's still on the phone, and to see if he's fucking here yet-

Cartman suddenly coughs and tries to sit up, straining weakly. Butters resumes petting his hair as he sputters, but looks up at Kyle hatefully. "Everything would've been perfect if you never got in the way. You keep ruining things - you never stop."

Kyle doesn't know how to answer, so instead he asks the only question he's got left: "Why did you kill Dougie?"  
  
Butters' face betrays him, and confusion becomes evident on it. "Wh-what?"

Kyle frowns; he's bewildered by Butters' apparent bewilderment. "Dougie O'Connell is dead, and you were seen last with him."

"Yeah, we - we had a beer a few days back. I-" Butters' face pales. "Dougie's dead?"

Kyle frowns. Butters could be tricking him, but this seems genuine. "You weren't the one who did it?"

"Why would I kill my b-best friend?" Butters asks, voice trembling. "I - we were so close. I told him everything."

"Everything?" Kyle asks, as softly as he can. 

Butters scowls. "No, not-" His eyes widen, and Kyle observes that they look a little wet. _Tears?_ he thinks. _Shit, he's all over the place, isn't he? The psychologists are gonna have a field day._  "Oh - oh no. Oh God."

He stands suddenly, leaving Cartman lying on the ground, looking like a flipped-over ladybug, and begins to pace behind him. He's chewing his nails.

"Whatever happened," Kyle says, although he thinks he knows, "I want you to know it's not too late. We can figure this out, Butters."

"He was gonna tell," Butters says, and the arrogant, angry persona is gone once more. He's meek and small again - it's familiar, and manageable, Kyle hopes. "He - Eli told him about Hunter and me, and he - he figured it out, he was gonna tell!"

"Leopold," Kyle says softly, deciding to try for tenderness. Maybe that's the way to go. "Stuff got out of hand. It's okay. It's not your fault."

"Shut up!" Butters screams, shrilly.

Apparently not.

Suddenly Cartman speaks from his place on the ground. His voice is hoarse, but there's conviction in it, like he still thinks he can win. "You wanna know what happened between him and Hunter, Kahl?" 

Kyle looks at Butters, who's tugging at his hair, reminiscent of fourth grade Tweek Tweak - then back down at Cartman. He can't make eye contact with him, given his position, so he's stuck staring at the bottom of his shoes. "What?"

"Hunter wanted to suck him off. Butters is weird about blowjobs, for some fuckin' reason, so he freaked out and stabbed him with his marshmallow skewer. Sixty-seven times." He heaves a sigh - either because he's still recovering from apparently passing out, or because he's tired of all the bullshit, Kyle's not sure. "Butters told me everything right before you showed up. It was in the papers back when it happened, but I didn't even think twice about it."

Kyle looks at Butters again, who's now huddling in the corner near the back of the boat, just beneath where the corpse is laid. He's hugging himself and rocking a bit - he might qualify for the insanity plea at this rate.

Cartman, as if reading his mind, suddenly says, "He's a fucking psycho. Did you hear what he did to my lawyer?" Kyle looks at him warily. Provoking Butters again when they've finally got him subdued is an absolutely terrible idea. "He locked him in his office and burned the building to the ground. He didn't even do anything!"

This shakes Butters out of his reverie, just as Kyle had dreaded, and he yells, "Don't fuck your employees!"

"He was innocent!"

"He was obsessed with you! Unhealthily! He had a shrine, Eric!"

"Yeah, 'cause apparently I attract psychotic fucks," Cartman spits. Kyle does have to admire him - he doesn't know many people who could argue so aggressively while laying on the floor in such an undignified position.

Butters, now standing, seethes and shakes with rage, but he suddenly heaves a breath and composes himself. Finally, he announces, "I have to pee. I'm not gonna be able ta enjoy myself if I gotta take a leak, yanno? So I'm gonna do that - an' when I come back, we finish this."

The sailboat is equipped with a bathroom, which is located right behind Kyle - Butters has to awkwardly move passed him, given the tight space, to get to it.

It's just what Kyle was praying for. As soon as he hears the door shut, he whispers, "Stan! You there?"

To his relief, Stan answers instantly, his voice similarly low. "We're almost there, Kyle! Two minutes at most! I'm recording this, are - how you guys doing?"

"Peachy," Cartman says weakly. Now that Butters is gone, he's let his walls fall a bit - clearly, he's not doing as well as he let on.

"What's going on, Cartman?" Kyle asks him.

"Blood sugar," he responds. "Hit my head on that fall, too."

"Alright, hang tight, buddy," he says, which is something he'd say to any kidnapping victim. He can applaud himself for staying professional later.

The door opens just as Stan resumes speaking, so Butters hears him say, "We'll circle around, okay?"

"What the hell is that!" Butters shrieks, footsteps loud on the wood floor as he rushes at Kyle.

"Oh, fuck, he heard me," Stan is saying, just as Butters locates the phone in Kyle's coat pocket and chucks it at the wall as hard as he can. Then he jumps on it, for good measure, until it's heavily cracked. Kyle's not concerned about the phone, considering it was a work phone - his personal is in his travel bag, which he'd tossed behind a bush just outside of this shed. Hopefully it won't get stolen, but he has more pressing concerns at the moment - like how Butters is very, very angry again.

"Fucker!" he yells, and he grabs the abandoned belt from the floor and straddles Kyle once more.

And then he starts to strangle him. Hard. Without stopping to prop Cartman back up so he can watch - so all he can do is listen helplessly. 

Kyle squeezes his eyes shut, because he doesn't want Butters' manic face to be the last thing he sees. He faintly hears Cartman yelling, but he can't make out the words. He's never felt anything like this before - and he's been shot in the stomach. He'd always thought Tim Roth had overplayed Orange's wound in Reservoir Dogs, but being in his shoes in a nonfictional setting had changed his mind. That shit _hurts_.

This, however, is worse. So much worse. Not particularly painful, although the squeeze of the leather and the way it cuts into his throat is far from pleasant - more so, it hurts that he's powerless, unable to fight, unable to yell. He's only able to concentrate on how he can't breathe, and how scared he is. He's terrified, goddamnit. He wishes he hadn't turned down Stan's request to say goodbye to his parents.

How ironic that he'd been the one who inadvertently caused his own death, at least by Butters' logic. Maybe this was fair. Justice served. In court, Butters will declare that Kyle merely got what was coming to him.

The world begins to grow fuzzy, noise fizzling into nothing, his brain going blank - just when he hears something loud enough to register, even in his screaming mind. Suddenly there's air, and he sucks it in, chest heaving, like the time he'd nearly drowned as a child.

His eyes open, slower than he'd like, and he sees two uniformed SWAT men on either side of Butters, pulling him off of Kyle. Stan's there replacing them as they carry the blonde off, kicking and screaming, but it sounds warped and disturbed to Kyle.

Stan's touching his face, his neck, and hair, and speaking, but Kyle can't hear. His heart's hammering. Everything's still fuzzy at the edges. If he could think straight, he'd be worrying about how strangulation sometimes results in brain damage and blindness - given his current state, all he can do is attempt to focus on Stan's blue eyes. He can't make out what he's saying, blood rushing through his ears, heartbeat loud in his skull.

An EMT kneels beside him, putting a breathing mask over his mouth, and Kyle closes his eyes and lets the world spiral away.

* * *

They don't knock him out, but he loses track of reality, world fading to blurs and faint noises for an indeterminate amount of time. Color eventually seeps back in through the edges, and he blearily opens his eyes and tries to sit up. He sucks in air, having been deprived of it so cruelly, and looks around.

He's in an open ambulance, parked just outside that death shed, and he's laid out on a stretcher, attached to a number of tubes and devices that pinch his skin. Stan's there to greet him with a tearful smile.

"Kyle!" he cries, and it takes Kyle a moment to register that he can hear again, and just as well as he could before. He's still got the breathing mask on, and he reaches for it weakly, so he can speak. "Oh, no," Stan says, grabbing his hand gently. "Leave that on for a sec. Lemme get one of docs, okay?"

Kyle lays his head back down again, closing his eyes and letting the memories of the past hour wash over him. Butters... Cartman.... strangling... he has to focus on keeping his breath even as the overwhelming experience of the last few days envelops him. Butters is surely on his way to a police station, if not already in a jail cell. Cartman's hopefully still near - Kyle hopes to talk to him when he's able.

Stan returns with one of the EMTs, a different one from last time, perhaps a paramedic. She's a dark haired woman with a low voice, and she smiles at him. "Hey, hon," she says softly. "My name's Lisa, I'm a paramedic. We wanna do a quick check up on you, make sure you're in good shape. Your heart's going pretty fast and your BP is a little abnormal, but there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage, other than some bruising. Still, we have to check, so we'd like to get you to the hospital as soon as possible, so we can put a neck brace on you, in case there's been any damage to your spine, and so we can make sure your vitals get back to where they're supposed to be. Does that sound good?"

He doesn't particularly want to, and he knows he reserves the right to refuse, but it's probably best if he lets them take care of him. Still, he's got some unfinished business to deal with first. He tells her this, and she seems unenthused, but doesn't protest.

"Can I take this thing off?" Kyle asks, voice muffled by the mask.

"You should probably leave it on," Lisa says, fussing with the dials on one of the various machines he's hooked up to.

"But I wanna get up."

"I guess you can, as long as you're not feeling light-headed."

She pulls it off him, then sets to work removing the contraptions on his arms, and Kyle takes a deep breath of the cool night air, which has been slightly tainted by the sterile smell of the ambulance. 

Lisa asks him some questions - "Are you feeling any pain?" "Did you go unconscious at any point?" "Were you injured prior to the strangulation?" - and listens to his lungs, feels his neck while he swallows, checks under his clothes for any additional injuries. Finally he gets the stamp of approval, and she helps him to his feet.

Stan's been hovering anxiously outside, near the doors - now he chews his lip and watches Kyle tensely.

Kyle's voice is a little fucked up, but he can talk, although he sounds hoarse and grating. It hurts a little to speak, but not unbearably so. "You good, Marsh?"

Stan gives him a small smile as he helps him down from the ambulance. "Nerve-wracked. Glad it's over." The smile drops, and he looks away, clearly overwhelmed. "Glad you're safe."

"Aw, Stan, I had it under control," Kyle says, even though that's a lie and they both know it. He'd been stupid, and he'll be chewed out endlessly if word gets back to his unit chief in New York about what he'd done, but he doesn't regret a thing. "Don't kick yourself, buddy, everything's okay now."

Stan falls into his arms, not audibly crying, but shaking pretty badly. Kyle's had a pretty shitty last few days, but he can't imagine what Stan's gone through, with his town falling to bits, his friends being killed or killers, and his reality turned on its head. It's a very different experience, what Stan was put through versus what Kyle's ordeal was. Being powerless as your loved ones suffer is nearly as bad as being the ones suffering. So Kyle's sympathetic.

Still, his mind is already elsewhere. He rubs Stan's back as reassuringly as he can and surveys the scene before him. The boathouse is being wrapped in police tape. Investigators and coroners head in and out of the proper door, which has been opened. There's about eight police cars and SUVs in all, all parked with their LED lights on and flashing. Dozens of cops and other law enforcers are gathered around. Someone's interviewing the young couple from earlier - they look pretty shaken up.

About twenty feet away, sitting on the back end of the only other ambulance at this scene, is Cartman. The doors of the ambulance are open, and the paramedic inside is fumbling around with something or other, not seeming to mind Cartman. He's kicking his feet childishly and staring at the ground, and he's got a bandage around his head and left arm. There's a blanket draped over his shoulders - it's a warm night, so Kyle figures it's more for comfort than for heat.

Stan pulls away, reminding Kyle where he is. He looks down at his friend, who wipes his damp eyes with his sleeve, looking embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry, Kyle. Look at me, crying like an asshole when you just got fucking  _strangled_ \- I'm a prick."

"It's okay, Stan. It - it's fine."

He's still looking at Cartman, and Stan seems to notice, because he turns to look, then looks back at Kyle with a knowing, melancholic smile. He puts a hand on Kyle's arm. "Go talk to him, dude. I know you want to."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I've been selfish enough. Go take care of yourself, Kyle. Talk to him. Find some peace."

Kyle smiles at him, gives him a quick but firm hug, and turns to look at Cartman again. He hasn't budged. 

Kyle watches him for a moment, smiling, feeling something frighteningly like fondness deep in his chest, before going over to him. "I dunno if you should be sitting on the edge like that, fatass. Might flip the truck over."

Cartman looks at him, then narrows his eyes, like he doesn't know if he should get pissed over the fat joke, or just dismiss it. He apparently goes with the latter and looks away, unamused but not quite irritated. "One of the paramedics up front is a pretty hefty guy. We keep it balanced."

Kyle snorts and sits down beside him. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I almost just got murdered by my serial killer boyfriend, who I was planning on proposing to soon. How the fuck am I supposed to feel?"

Kyle smiles, a little sadly. "You were gonna propose to him?"

"I intended to. I was waiting until his birthday, because I was gonna take him out to an expensive place and shit, make it real special. Now my life's in fucking shambles. He burnt the fucking shop down and made me watch. That was my life's work!"

"You're mad about your shop?"

"I'm mad that my life fell to pieces this fucking quickly." He laughs, bitterly. "You know my birthday's soon? Five days. Fuck knows how I'll spend it." He sniffs. "Butters was gonna take me to go see that new  _Magic Mike_  movie. With, like, the strippers, and stuff. The guy ones. Fucking asshole."

Kyle shakes his head. "The department will take care of you. You've got insurance, too, don't you?"

Cartman shrugs. "Obamacare."

"No, like - not healthcare, dude, like, _'Nationwide is on your side'_ , that sorta thing-"

"Allstate, bitch," Cartman says wryly.

Kyle smiles. "Yeah! See? You're good to go then."

"Sure," Cartman mumbles.

"Besides, there's, like, ways to raise money online these days."

"You're telling me I should get into porn?"

"No!" Kyle laughs, but it's not heartfelt. He's still too shaken up for genuine laughter, but Cartman's jokes are making him feel a lot better regardless. "I mean, like, _Kickstarter_ , those sorts of things. People raise money for funerals and projects, why not try to raise money for you to start a new life?"

"I hate that I have to," Cartman says. "I - okay, I dunno if I was happy, but I wasn't miserable, you know? I didn't even know anything... was wrong. One day it just - it fell apart. Right in front of me. And I was just like, 'What the fuck'?"

Kyle watches Stan converse with a group of cops, which includes Clyde Donovan, who appears to be pelting him with questions. Typical. "You're kinda to blame, Cartman. I know you don't wanna admit it, but it stemmed from you."

"It stemmed from all of us," Cartman snaps, defensive all over again. "Kenny threw that ninja star at him in fourth grade. His parents put him through hell and back. His grandma beat the shit outta him. His mom tried to kill him - twice! We all used him, and none of us liked him, or offered friendship, we just used and abused him, Kahl, it was all of us. We all fucked him up."

Kyle doesn't know how to reply. It's upsetting to hear. "You knew he was fucked up?"

"Obviously. But I guess I'm fucked up, too, so we fit." Cartman stares at his feet. "Sometimes I think we both thought no one else would take us. That we were too broken for anyone else, but just right for each other. So we got stuck together."

"That's soul-mate talk, Cartman. That's real insightful of you."

"He was the only one who put up with me." Cartman crosses his arms over his chest, like he's cold, even though he's wrapped in a wool blanket. "He was the only one who stuck by me."

"What about Eli?"

Cartman snorts. "Eli was some law school snot from Idaho, or something. He was more into me than I was into him, and I'm not just saying that to be a cocky bastard, that was just how it was. I mean, he had a nice body, and he was funny, in a sarcastic dry way - like you. Or Harrison Ford."

That makes Kyle smile. "You're comparing me to Harrison Ford?"

"Well, I mean. Just as far as humor goes. There's not much else in common there. He's Jewish, you know. I found that out recently." Cartman's watching the cops mill about, but he looks uninterested. "I mean, he's mostly Irish, but his mom's a Jew, so that makes him a Jew, technically. Makes Raiders of the Lost Ark even better, right? If ten year old me knew, he'd shit his pants. I used to love Indiana Jones. Although looking back, it might've been for, like, gay reasons."

Kyle gets people - it's what he does for a living. But even with all his schooling and training, Cartman's still the same strange, complex enigma he was before. Kyle shakes his head in disbelief. "Are you gonna cope with this by talking about your childhood gay crushes?"

"Probably," Cartman says. "I got my first boner from Leo DiCaprio."

"You're so annoying," Kyle says, but he means it lovingly. Even though he knows Cartman's trying to distract himself from reality, it's still a glimpse of the old Cartman, the one Kyle knew and hated and potentially loved, which is infinitely comforting. He laughs quietly. "To be fair, I think a lot of 90s gays got their first boner from Leo DiCaprio."

"Well, I'm different from those 90s gays, because I got mine from _Gilbert Grape_."

Kyle laughs, loudly, _genuinely_ , for the first time in ages. Cartman watches him, smiling softly. "You're fucking gross, dude!" Kyle laughs. "You would've been, like, ten!"

"I knew what I wanted at a young age."

Kyle lets himself giggle, which he hasn't done in years. "You're crazy."

"Did you hear about that new bear movie he's doing? _That's_ crazy."

He says it like it's an unrelated statement, not an invitation to further the topic, so Kyle doesn't respond, mostly because he hadn't, and it's not the time to ask. There's a tenseness to Cartman, like he's bursting to ask something, so Kyle quiets and waits.

Cartman's silent for approximately five seconds before he says, "Tell me how that sick fuck got my DNA."

Kyle checks Cartman's face. He's still watching the evidence being carried from the boathouse. He looks pale and sullen, when he's usually fairly rosey-cheeked. Regardless of his jokes, it's clear he's feeling pretty damn bad. Kyle doesn't blame him.

He picks at a rip on his sleeve, which he must've torn at some point. "It was, uh. Semen. He must've bottled it or something."

"That little freak stole my jizz? What the fuck?"

"He did it before," Kyle shrugs. "Bottling jizz, not stealing it, I mean. Remember fourth grade?"

"Doesn't make it any less weird. Shit, how didn't I notice?"

"I dunno." Kyle wants to ask him why he cheated, but he doesn't want to get into that, and he figures it'll be discussed graphically by the lawyers later anyway.

Cartman falls silent again, kicking his feet still.

Kyle looks up at the sky. In Manhattan, stars are pretty much nonexistent, which is a given considering all the light pollution. Every time they do a case outside of NYC, which isn't very often, Kyle's always sure to appreciate a night sky where millions of stars glimmer and gleam freely. 

"His name was Arnie, you know."

Kyle looks at Cartman, surprised to hear him speak so soon. He'd figured he'd get lost in his thoughts for a bit longer. "Huh?"

"DiCaprio's character in _Gilbert Grape_. His name was Arnie Grape. Gilbert was Depp's character."

"Oh." Kyle studies him. His expression hasn't changed. "You wanna talk about anything?"

"What's New York like?"

Kyle wasn't anticipating a question like that, but it's easier to discuss, so he doesn't mind. He shrugs. "It's cool. Haven't you been there before?" He remembers the picture of him and Butters at the Broadway venue.

"Yeah, but Butters was being bitchy, so I didn't get to do much."

"Oh. Well. I dunno. It's loud. Big." 

"Just like me."

Kyle grins. "Yeah, a little bit, huh?"

"How often do you go to those skyscrapers?"

"Not often."

Cartman drums on his thighs lightly, which is something he used to do in middle school when he was feeling awkward or bored. It makes Kyle smile. "Fear of heights?"

"Not really. The team just rarely ends up in the financial district, where all the tall buildings are. We're usually in Brooklyn, the Bronx, mid to upper Manhattan - where the heavier violent crime is. Although, surprisingly, things are a lot better out there lately. Major decrease since the 90s."

"You deal with any terrorism stuff?"

"I work in criminology, not counter-terrorism."

"So, like, killers and rapists and shooters and stuff?" Cartman seems genuinely interested, but he won't look at Kyle.

"Uh huh. Sometimes we deal with financial shit, white collar crimes and stuff - embezzlement, fraud, money laundering, the works, but not nearly as often. That's not as interesting, but sometimes the change is nice. Murders can get depressing."

"It's so weird that you're, like, dealing with national security, and I was busy running a shitty mechanic shop with my psycho boyfriend. We're like opposites."

"You could've pursued any job, Cartman. You're a smart guy, you just chose to be an underachiever."

"I chose to stay with my mom and Butters, rather than bail on all my family and friends. Excuse me for being selfless."

Kyle rolls his eyes. Not this fucking conversation again. "It's not about selflessness, it's about deciding whether your relationship with your family is more important than your own future. I'm not gonna apologize for making a life for myself. I've already gone over this with Stan, I'm not gonna be scolded by you, too."

"Oh, speak of the fucking devil - you jinxed it! Here comes fuckin' Poirot." Cartman's looking at something behind Kyle with a disdainful expression.

Kyle turns to see Stan approaching, looking bashful. His cheeks are wind-whipped and his hair is a mess. Kyle really can't imagine how much stress he's been under for the last few hours. Being in immediate danger is pretty terrible, but being the friend or family member who's too far away to help is arguably even worse.

"How are you two doing?" he asks as he stops in front of them.

"Pretty damn shitty," Cartman scoffs, pulling his blanket tighter around himself. "I don't intend on forgiving you for deciding I was guilty any time soon, Marsh. Get the hell out of my face."

Stan looks down at his feet, ashamed, but he looks up when Kyle places a hand on his shoulder. "You saved us. That's all that matters."

"I could've done more," Stan says, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Oh yeah, Schindler? You righteous fucking pussy?"

"Cartman," Kyle says sharply. He looks at Stan. "You did what you could and it was enough, Stan. Don't beat yourself up."

"No, I could've saved some of those men," Stan says, voice lowering. "Kyle, when I picked Butters up that night? He was covered in blood. It was dark, and I couldn't see much, but he told me it was from being beat up. He said he got jumped by a couple of guys. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he insisted on going home. I should've known, as soon as they put me on the case, I should've fucking - I should've known! But I - I didn't wanna believe that someone I trusted, someone I was friends with - someone I thought I _knew_ was capable of _that_."

"I was your friend, too, asshole," Cartman says sharply. "You turned your back on me, but you stuck by Butters? The fuck is that about?"

"It was Butters, Eric! The guy radiated warmth and love!"

"Yeah, except when he went batshit and threw vases and shit at me," Cartman rolls his eyes. He looks at Kyle. "I put all our shit in storage 'cause I was tired of Butters breaking it all. A lot of our furniture was my mom's, and when he'd get mad he'd start grabbing for it. I should've fucking turned him in. I really should've." He glares at Stan. "War and Peace here talked me out of it every time."

Kyle frowns at him. "You've never even read War and Peace, have you?"

Cartman shrugs, which means he hasn't. "The title's contradictory, just like this hypocritical shitlord."

"Look, I'm sorry, Eric. I'm sorry for saying you were guilty. I'm - I've been under a lot of stress."

"And I haven't?"

"We've all been under a lot of stress," Kyle says, taking the mediator role for a change. Once upon a time, Stan had often acted as the peacekeeper between Kyle and Cartman. The irony of the swapped roles isn't lost on Kyle. "Let's not compare how shitty our weeks have been. Let's be grateful it's over."

"But it's not," Cartman says. "For you, maybe. You'll fly back to your nice city apartment and feel all proud of yourself, and Stan will go back to his perfect wife and kids like nothing happened, but I have to clean up the fucking pieces. I have _nothing_. I've seriously lost fucking _everything_."

"I'll take care of you, if you need," Stan offers earnestly, eyebrows pulled together. "You can have our guest bedroom for however long it takes you to get back on your feet."

"Like I'd ever let myself depend on you," Cartman spits. "I'm pissed at you, Marsh. You fucked up. I don't intend to forgive you anytime soon, if ever."

Stan deflates a bit, and Kyle reaches over to grasp his hand. "Stan," he says, "I wanna apologize for arguing with you. That was fucking stupid of both of us, to fight amongst ourselves while a killer was on the loose, but I'll blame it on the stress of the situation. Still, I'm sorry for what was said."

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Now - now that this thing's over, I wanna fix things between you and me. I want us to be friends again." Stan squeezes his hand, tightly.

Kyle smiles, feeling a warmth in his chest he hasn't felt in a long, long time. A sense of belonging, perhaps. A feeling of, _I'm home_.

"Hey, listen, I know I'm an actual fag, but you two are being pretty fucking gay right now," Cartman says, which completely ruins the mood.

Still, it's enough like old times that both Kyle and Stan laugh. 

"I think I might've interrupted something, so I'll go now. I'll be over there, if you need anything." Stan points to the group of BAU agents and other officers who've gathered to discuss where to go from here.

"Bye, fucker," Cartman says, waving goodbye dismissively.

Stan actually smiles, gives Kyle a pointed look, and walks away.

Kyle knows what that look meant. He sighs and looks at Cartman. "You really should be nicer, dude. He saved us."

"If I wanna be a petty bitch, let me be a petty bitch," Cartman responds.

There's a moment of silence - between them, at least. Everyone else is talking, discussing the case, the future of Butters, what they're gonna do once they get home.

Kyle turns to look at Cartman. He's got his head bowed and he's staring at his feet. It's out of character, and it reminds Kyle of those quiet moments of vulnerability that Kyle had fallen in love with back in high school. 

Knowing the question will be met with sarcasm, but feeling the need to ask it anyway, Kyle asks, "You okay?"

"I always hated when people asked if I was okay after tragedies happened. Like, you think I'm okay? Would anyone be okay after being two seconds away from death?"

Kyle smiles bashfully and stares at his feet. "Yeah, you're right."

Cartman chuckles weakly. "I'm not, actually. Okay. At all. I - shit, Kahl." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I miss you, you know. A lot."

"I miss you, too." It's not a lie; he'd shut his emotions down completely after he'd moved, but his return to South Park opened the floodgates, and he does miss him, immensely.

Cartman shakes his head and starts rambling, a little nervously. "I still can't believe I was the primary suspect. I mean, like, was I ever rough with you? And, shit, I'm hot when I wanna be - I don't need to kidnap people to get ass. Besides, like, not only is raping someone fucked up, it'd take too much damn energy. You know my lazy ass prefers to bottom, 'cause it's less work for me. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd probably be straight. Like, seriously." He laughs to himself, weakly, before going sullen again. He looks at Kyle. "You didn't really think it was me, right?"

"No. Not really. I know you, I know what you're capable of. But I know who you are, too. And I knew."

Cartman grins at him, and Kyle hates how it makes him feel. "Bitch, you tryna fuck or what?"

Kyke laughs, but puts a hand on Cartman's chest when he leans into him. "No, Cartman," he says, gently, but firmly, and Cartman's smile disappears. "Not yet, okay?"

Cartman pulls his blanket further around himself. Without that raggedy beard, he looks so much younger. Especially looking like he's just lost his world. He has, really. It's apparent in his eyes that he realizes it. The vulnerability is scary.

"I'm alone," he says.

"No, you're not."

"The man I wanted to marry is going to jail. The man I was having an affair with is dead. The man I'm in love with lives thousands of miles away and wants nothing to do with me. On top of that, everyone I've ever met has spent the last week thinking I killed people. I'm fucking alone."

"I'm here," Kyle says softly.

"Yeah, until you fly back to New York. I can't stay in that house, there's too many memories, and I'm not tapping into my retirement funds to buy a decent house, so I have to get a shitty little apartment, and I have to sleep in a cold, empty bed, and I have to eat breakfast and dinner at a one-person table. Fuck, I have to get some shitty retail job - everything's shit."

Kyle looks at him carefully. "Your relationships with Butters and Eli were both toxic. Shouldn't you be glad?"

"I'd take a serial killer boyfriend over no boyfriend."

"That's pretty fucked up."

"I'm pretty fucked up." Cartman puts his head in his hands. "I'm just another fucked up faggot."

"Stop it, Cartman. Don't talk like that."

"I did this, you know. This was all my fucking fault. I'll admit it, 'cause it's true. I pushed Butters to the edge. I made him kill all those guys. They're dead for no reason, just 'cause I contributed to Butters' fucking unraveling."

"He's been unraveled for a while. Like you said."

"I know. I took advantage of it. Look where it fucking got us."

Cartman's self-aware now. It'd be shocking if Kyle wasn't too busy wondering what Cartman was trying to prove.

"You'll be okay," Kyle says, for lack of anything better.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Sure. You say that like my life didn't literally just fall apart."

"Yeah, but anything broken can be fixed."

"What fortune cookie did you get that off of?"

"I'm being serious. You'll be okay. You'll save up for another mechanic shop, maybe meet a cute barista or librarian, something inconspicuous. Be happy. Maybe adopt a kid. Retire in a cute little mountain cottage or some shit."

"I don't want a mountain cottage," Cartman says. "Or a cute barista. That sounds fucking ridiculous."

"What do you want then?"

Cartman falls silent while he considers, before sighing in defeat. "I don't know."

Kyle looks at him, then at the ground. "Nobody knows what they want, Cartman. Some people think they do, but they don't. You just have to do what makes you happy."

"I don't even know what makes me happy. I haven't known what makes me happy for a while. When I was a kid, making other people sad made me happy. Fucking farts made me happy. When I was a teenager, being wanted made me happy. Once I hit twenty-five, nothing made me happy. It's just. Everything's mundane. Fuck, my ex killed people, and it just feels like an annoying inconvenience."

That sounds like legitimate depression, but he doesn't think Cartman wants to hear that right now. He sighs. 

"Cartman, sometimes life fucks us over. It's worse for some people than others, but everyone gets fucked over at some point. It just happens. It fucking sucks, but it's unavoidable. You kinda just have to take it, and then try to recover. That's all you really can do.

"And, the thing is - and I can't believe I'm saying this at thirty-two - but I learned something today. I learned that destiny must exist, 'cause why else would I have a reason to come back to South Park? Why else would you be provided with the means to get away from Butters? It has to be for a reason. So even though all these shitty, horrible things happened, it can be a good thing in the end. Things can get better."

He stops when Cartman, who'd been leaning towards him for a good portion of his speech, puts his head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asks softly.

"Solid," Cartman says seriously. "You feel solid. You're the only thing that feels real right now."

His insides hurt, his throat and his brain and his heart, but Kyle wraps a hand around Cartman's thick waist and holds him close. Then he slides his hand up and combs it through his hair. It's soft and fine, just like he remembers, though it's thinned a bit as he's aged.

It feels right, like starting a new project after finishing an old long-term one. This won't end here, he knows, and he doesn't mind that. It feels like he's not just at the end of a chapter, but at the end of a novel. The first novel, perhaps, in a trilogy. 

He glances down. Cartman's got his eyes closed.

"Cartman?"

"Hmm?"

"We'll be okay," he says again.

Cartman doesn't answer. Kyle hopes he believes it, because Kyle does, for the first time in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the fic! Took a year, but now it's (almost) over! Woo! Sorry the chapter is so long, I hope it never lost its edge? I dunno why I stretched it out so much, but I hope it wasn't a bad thing. I just didn't want it to feel cheap, I wanted it to feel genuine and tense and not rushed, and I hope I achieved that? I feel like when you built up to a climax over six chapters, you can't just get it over with, you have to make it last and make it hurt, so I hope it turned out okay.
> 
> Okay, as promised, I wanna talk about writing this fanfic. So this is way out of my element. I'm generally a one shot writer, and my old niche was writing bandom PWPs. They usually garnered a fair amount of kudos, but never as many well-written and thoughtful comments as this has received. Writing this fic has been challenging, but infinitely rewarding, because of you guys! So I wanted to say thank you all so, so much for the incredible reception I've received!
> 
> Now, I've written several SP fics before, but I only ever posted three or four (all deleted, which I regret) in 2013, and they never got nearly this much attention. Granted, they were all fluffy one-shots because I was still young enough to be afraid of smut hahah. Anyway, if 2013-me knew I returned to this fandom after a break and wrote such a positively received fic, about serial killers no less, she'd be in awe. 
> 
> Completing this fic feels like a step forward as a fanfic writer, which is incredible. I've been writing fic for about a decade, but I've never felt so motivated to share my writing. Positive reception does wonders for writers, guys; if you like a fic, tell them! Because y'all singlehandedly made me love writing again, and I really appreciate that! All the amazing conversations I've had, and you guys allowing me to ramble about all the thought I put into this, and getting passionate about my fic? It's just so wonderful. 
> 
> So I have every intention of writing more multi-chapter fics, because I had such a positive experience with this one. And I'm honestly so proud of myself for finishing a multi-chapter fic, because I haven't done that in years! I have a hard time with chaptered fics, because my attention span is a bitch, so I legit can't believe I pulled this off. Like, I finished a 50k+ word fic? My depressed ADHD-riddled ass? It took a year, but still, I think I'm allowed to be proud. It's a first, and hopefully not a last, because I've got all kinds of ideas now that I know I'm capable of completing something like this.
> 
> So - onto the future. There's gonna be one more chapter, an epilogue, which will be very Kyman-centric (including some?! smut?!) I'm already almost done with it, and writing it is very gratifying 'cause it's definitely lighter in nature than earlier chapters, and thus let me work some witty banter in, and since I'm inclined towards humor, that was a refreshing change from all this damn angst. So look forward to that, 'cause I'm eager to share it! It's like an extended version of Cartman and Kyle's conversation at the end of this chapter, but with additional sexual tension, woo. 
> 
> Also working on a prequel and sequel, with the prequel being a standard high school AU that can be read as a stand-alone, but can also be linked to this - everything mentioned as a memory in this fic will be elaborated on in that one. It'll be fun, HS AUs always are. The sequel, however, will be set a few years after the upcoming epilogue, and that one's a surprise...
> 
> Now: if there's anything in this fic doesn't make sense, or that doesn't line up, tell me so I can clarify next chapter, because I know I always have questions after a Crim Minds episode is finished. I think most things were fairly apparent, but if Butters' motives weren't explained well enough, or there was any plot holes, or anything like that, I'll fix it next chapter! So be sure to inform me!
> 
> So yeah. As y'all can tell, I'm very happy and proud, haha. I feel like I've matured as a writer, and I think this fic is pretty solid. Hope you guys enjoyed the ride. See y'all soon for that epilogue!
> 
> (And a shoutout to my lovely EMT friend, Keren, who helped me with accuracy regarding the medical stuff!)


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